


Curious Whumper Collection

by HollyeLeigh



Category: Colin O'Donoghue - Fandom, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Other, Whump, various colin characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-06
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2019-07-25 19:45:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 31,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16204400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyeLeigh/pseuds/HollyeLeigh
Summary: A collection of whumpy one shots featuring the many iterations of Killian Jones, as well a few of Colin O'Donoghue's other roles (real or speculated). Based on prompts from Whumptober 2018, Bad Things Happen Bingo, and the OUAT Winter Whump Event.Ratings, Trigger Warnings, Characters, and Word Count will be listed in the notes section at the beginning of each chapter.





	1. Whumptober Day 4: No Stop! / Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Rated T / TW: shadow ripping, screaming, taunting / Captain Hook, Peter Pan, Pan's Shadow / ~275 words

* * *

 

“No, stop!” Hook cried out in pain, wrestling the umbral figure that had come out of nowhere. It felt as though the specter was ripping him asunder, rending the very fibers of his being causing them to fray in agony.

“What’s the matter, Captain?” Pan taunted. “It’s just a shadow, remember?”

The smoke like demon continued to peel Hook’s shadow from his body, slicing through him with a vile magic as if he were skinning him alive. Piercing screams echoed off the cliffs. Lines of perspiration ran down his face, mixing with hot tears of anguish that could no more be held back than his cries.

“You can scream all you want,” Pan said in a bored tone, circling the tree the Shadow had Hook pinned against. “It only obeys my commands.” To prove his point he called out to the shadow and the tearing sensation at Hook’s soul stopped.

Pan stood in front of Hook, his imaged obscured by the dark misty form. Hook lifted his head and shut his eyes, his breathing labored and weary from torment. Micro convulsions pulsed through his aching nerve endings, and he wondered how long the sudden reprieve would last. He balked at the feel of Pan’s hand against his cheek. Snapping his open, he was alarmed to find the demon boy so close, holding him place with a different magic than the now absent shadow.

Pan leaned in to whisper something in Hook’s, and the words sent a shudder down the pirate’s spine.

“And unless you wish to keep your shadow attached to your body… you’re going to obey my every command, too.”


	2. Blood Stained

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated T / TW: cursed hook, bloody hand, slicing, stabbing, fevers, maiming / Killian Jones, Emma Swan, Captain Swan / ~3300 words

* * *

 

Killian had felt that something was off early on, but he’d chalked it up to the trauma he’d sustained under Hades sadistic ministrations, and nearly losing himself to the River of Souls. The creeping sensation of something sinister taking root within him was pushed aside in the face of his emotional reunion and subsequent farewell to his brother. Then, after Swan had left him alone at the base of the elevator shaft, nothing felt as if it mattered any longer. Now that he was back in Storybrooke with his true love, Killian couldn’t deny the sense of dread any longer.

Something was terribly, terribly wrong.

When Killian had first arrived in the Underworld there had been a glorious, if not fleeting moment of pure peace. Completely free of darkness, whether of a curse or his own making, he had hoped that his sacrifice had been enough to balance the scales. It hadn’t been long after that Hades’ minions had gotten a hold of him, leaving him with only pain and anger at his own foolishness. It seemed no amount of change, or distance trod on a hero’s journey could have ever earned him a different sentence in the afterlife.

However, hope had blossomed again when his Swan had made her presence known, and despite his initial wavering he did truly believe that he was, or could be, a man worth saving. So much so, that he was starting to question how much of that wavering had truly been him, for ever since Swan had secured his hook back into place after rescuing him, he hadn’t truly felt like himself.

Well, not his current self, his new self, any how.

There was something disturbingly familiar about the menacing blackness he felt seeping into his soul. It knew where all the cracks were, fresh from their carving by the mire of the curse during his stint as a Dark One. But it wasn’t the sentient collective evil of those demons that ghosted through him from the origins of his hook’s tip, this was something altogether different, and yet… he recognized it.

Had Hades done something to the metal appendage when he’d been in possession of it? Corrupted the symbol he’d taken on as a moniker during his reign as a ruthless villain? He knew that spells cast with dark magic tended to break once the caster was dead, but did that hold true if the magic was divine in nature? How did one break the magic of a god?

Most days it wasn’t even an issue, the love of his Swan and the acceptance of friends and those he now considered his family sustained him against the shadows of his past. Other days, though. It was a hot, pulsing rhythm like a festering wound radiating under his skin. He knew he ought to say something, mention the dark impulses and even darker instincts that twitched down his left arm, threatening to take over his good sense when something, or someone, irked him or caused a perceived slight, not matter how inconsequential or unintentional. Fear caused him to remain silent, though. Fear that it wasn’t a curse or an enchantment that was affecting his hook at all, but simply his old nature resurrecting itself as Zeus had done with his body and soul.

That worry would prove itself false though, when the far more horrifying reality came to light one morning whilst he and Emma were out on patrol.

“We gotta go. One of the dwarves just called in a disturbance at the town line.”

When nothing apparent was amiss after they’d arrived, Emma suggested they split up and canvas the area. His agitation over being on some fool’s errand, thanks once again to the dwarves, when he could be _patrolling_ his Swan in the back of the cruiser, quickly spiraled into full blown rage as the first drizzle of autumn rain began to fall. Taking his fury out on the trees as he marked his path, Killian envisioned embedding his hook in the dwarves bellies rather than the tender bark of the damp pines.

After weeks of suppression, something snapped within Killian. Something dark and sinister that vibrated in the metal of his hook and hummed its way through the chords of soul. He was overcome by an insatiable thirst to do harm, to maim, to kill, to inflict pain - to embrace his former villainy.

That’s what it was. Villainy.

The symbol of his villainy had somehow been imbued with the darkness of his past deeds and the blackness that had once filled his heart. He’d kept the hook as a reminder of who he once was and vowed to never be again, but that vow was suddenly in jeopardy. As were the people he cared for and loved the most.

Killian grasped his hook and twisted it in an attempt to release it from the brace, but it wouldn’t budge. He tried anchoring it in a fallen log to gain additional leverage, but it was useless. Hastily he removed his jacket and tore at the buttons of his waist coat and shirt, fumbling with the buckles of his brace once his garments were removed. A searing pain lanced through his forearm, and he cried out in both pain and horror at the sight of his leather brace fusing into skin, grafting itself down to the bone.

He grappled with the hook once more. His palm, slick from his distress, slipped over its smooth finish and sliced across the sharp tip. Blood poured from the deep laceration as Killian frantically clawed at the brace, his panic spiking along with his pulse when he heard Emma call out for him.

He couldn’t let her near him while he was like this. He’d never forgive himself if he…

The vision of his hook sinking into her soft flesh propelled him deeper into the woods. The brief flush of satisfaction the image created had him choking back bile as he ran through the forest, leaving a trail of blood behind from his still dripping hand and the fresh scratches criss crossing his face and body from the brambles. The pain in his arm from where the brace had imbedded itself sprawled outward planting roots of anguish throughout his entire body.

Soon the torment became too much to bear, and exhaustion forced him to stop. He took sanctuary under a large pine tree, the rain now coming down in sheets and making him shiver. He continued to dig at the seam that joined the brace to his flesh, until his fingers became too numb and the site too bloodied to distinguish between skin and leather. Tremors wracked his body and the rough bark of the tree dug into his back. Blinking wearily he could barely make out Emma’s approach, the heavy crunch of the leaves under her boots revealing her hurried steps towards him.

“Swan, no,” he warned feebly. His head lolled forward and it took great effort to lift it back up to rest against the trunk.

“Killian! My god, what’s happened to you?”

“Stay back,” he warned again, this time with a bit more force behind his words that, thankfully, had her slowing her approach as she scanned their surroundings warily.

Pulling her gun from her holster, she continued to survey the area and asked, “Who did this to you?”

His head flopped from side to side against the bark as he shook his head. “No one. It’s… my hook. Something’s… something’s wrong with it.” His teeth were chattering painfully now, the intermediate tremors he’d been experiencing were now a constant torrent of spasms rolling over him.

“Well, let’s get it off you then,” Swan replied pragmatically, sending a swell of rage cresting over him.

“I’ve tried!” he shouted, startling her with his sudden burst of anger fueled vehemence. “It’s fused itself right into my bloody skin. Right down to the bone!”

He lifted his left arm to show her, and that was a mistake. Without any intention on his part, the hook swung out and missed his Swan’s neck by mere millimeters. Killian’s heart jumped into his throat at the close call, his eyes locked onto hers and he could see by the look there that she understood he was not in control. The hook raised itself again, but Killian managed to grab his braced wrist and guide it to a different target than his love, impaling it deep into his own thigh. A scream tore from the back of his throat, and Emma was beside him in an instant.

“Killian!” Her hands went straight to his face, cradling it in her palms. “You’re burning up,” she said, assessing his wounds with a look of shock radiating from her eyes. “God, how much blood have you lost? We need to get you the hospital. Can you stand?” Without waiting for his reply, she tried to pry his right hand off his left arm where he was still holding his hook in place.

“No!” He nudged her away with his shoulder in a panic, and the sudden motion sent a wave of nausea through him, causing him to sway into her arms. He felt a warm breeze rustle over his skin, and Emma’s magic shone bright against his closed eyelids, but it was to no avail. Her magic had no effect in healing him.

“Killian, we have to get you help.” Emma tried reasoning with him, her voice shaking with fear.

He knew he must look a fright; deathly pale, covered in blood and dirt and leaves, with his own hook lodged in his leg. Even if he wanted to, he doubted he’d get very far with his injuries. Whatever force had cursed his hook seemed to make sure that any wounds it inflicted would be as severe as possible. Blood still flowed freely from his hand, and the trickle at his leg was coming at a steady stream.

“I can’t, Swan,” he despaired “If I remove the hook in order to walk I fear I’ll bleed to death before we make it to the road.”

“You don’t have to walk. I can magic us straight to the hospital, remember? It’s just easier if your standing, so I need you to get up.”

She reached for his hand again, and he begged her, “Wait! Cut it off first.”

“Cut what off?” Her brows furrowed in confusion, and he swallowed hard before answering.

“The hook, the brace, cut the damn thing off before we subject an emergency room full of people to this… this… whatever the hell this is!”

“Killian you’re delirious with fever. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

He shook his head against her words, beads of perspiration slipping down his forehead and into his eyes as the abyss waited in his periphery. “I do know,” he growled. “I’ve lived without my damn hand for centuries, what’s losing another few inches of my arm going to change?” He turned his pleading eyes onto her and implored, “Please, Swan. I could have killed you just now. I can’t control it, and I won’t...”

The forest floor where they sat began spinning, and he fell further into Emma’s arms unable to finish his thought and knowing his words had started to become slurred. His body shivered, feeling colder than it had just moments ago, and her arms tightened around him.

“Killian!” Emma’s voice was like cotton in his ears. His body shifted and met the cold, sodden earth. Another violent spasm rolled through him and he released his hold on the hook still buried in his thigh. Reaching up he caressed his Swan’s tear stained cheek, unintentionally maring her creamy complexion with his blood as his fingers trailed down her beautiful face before he succumbed to the dark chasm of oblivion.

~/~

Killian let out a soft groan as he slowly made his way back into consciousness. He didn’t need to open his eyes to know he was no longer on the forest floor. It seemed Emma had been able to get him to the hospital after all; the familiar sounds and smells from when he’d been a patient here the last time focused themselves in his mind attesting to his whereabouts. He struggled with the duality of feeling warm and comfortable under the soft blankets, with plush pillows supporting his head, while also experiencing a sense of dread at what he might come to find from the throbbing ache in his forearm.

Had she done as he’d asked? Had she cut off the brace, leaving him as even less than he was before?

He knew he couldn’t rely on the pain to reassure him. Fantom twinges had ached in his left hand that was no longer there for ages after the crocodile had cut it off. How long would he have to endure that torture once again?

“Killian?” Emma said softly beside him. “I think he’s coming around.”

There were shuffling noises indicating that there were more people than just his Swan in the room with them. He forced his eyelids open and groaned again at the harsh artificial light burning against his retina.

“Hey there, handsome,” Emma greeted, running her fingers through his hair and smiling gently. “You gave us quite a scare.”

Killian attempted to swallow, but couldn’t work up the necessary saliva to accomplish the task. Sensing his need, Emma produced a cup of water and guided the straw to his mouth so he could take a much needed drink. He sputtered and coughed at the friction of the liquid against his raw, dry palate, but managed to take in a fews sips to relieve his parched throat.

“Wh-what happened,” he croaked. Still unwilling to face the prospect of what remained of his arm, Killian kept his gaze firmly upon Emma’s face.

“You’d lost a lot of blood, and your fever was scary high. My magic wasn’t working on you, so Regina had to place you under a preservation spell to keep you alive.” She wiped away a tear that had slid from her lashes, but persevered in maintaining a brave face as she continued the tale. “I wouldn’t let them cut off your arm, so Whale actually performed surgery to remove the brace. Once it was off your wounds started to heal, but they still won’t respond to magic.”

“So… my arm? It’s-”

“Just the way it was before,” she assured him.

He pressed his head back further into the pillow and closed his eyes, breathing out a sigh of relief. “Do we know what caused it?”

“Regina’s working on it,” she told him. “Gold has a theory, but I haven’t let him anywhere near you or your hook,” she added quickly, knowing he wouldn’t have trusted the crocodile to actually offer any true assistance in his plight.

“What’s his theory?” Killian asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

“That it was one of Hades’ punishments. A spell to make you believe you were becoming a villain again. That if he could get you to believe it, or act upon it, then it would keep you from being able to move on. He thinks you were resurrected before the spell could fully mature, but somehow the effects of it still crossed over with you.”

The two sat in silence as Killian mulled over Emma’s words. It seemed a plausible enough theory, and would certainly explain some of things he’d been battling within himself since Emma rescued him. Of course, they may never discover the truth, and with Emma continuing to caress his hair and forehead he wasn’t all that sure he even cared. It was over now. He was alive, safe, and so was everyone else who mattered to him.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Emma questioned with her teeth worrying at her lip. “Regina said this had to have been coming on for awhile. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Killian took a bracing breath, drumming up the courage his honesty would require before meeting his Swan’s gaze,. “Because it still feels so fragile. What we have. What we share.” He reached up and took her hand in his, no longer stained with blood. “I know True Love is the most powerful magic of all, but most days it feels as delicate as spun glass, and I live in constant torment that one wrong word or deed will cause it to shatter.”

She squeezed his hand and offered him a sympathetic smile. “I know exactly how you feel. Neither of us ever expected to find what we have, but we _did_. Trust me, I get how scary the thought of losing it is, but Killian… we already did once. You _died_.” Another tear made its way down her cheek; one to match his own. “Multiple times, actually,” she said with a watery chuckle.

“Survivor,” he cheeked back with a hint of mirth.

“That’s exactly my point,” she exhorted. “We’re survivors, you and I, which means our love is, too. You have to believe that. _We_ have to believe that.”

Killian raised her hand to his lips and pressed a kiss to the back of her knuckles. “Aye, love. You’re right. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the moment I thought something was wrong. I should never keep things from you. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Sure you will,” she quipped and he raised his brows at her in mocked offense.

“Oi!”

“What? You’re a pirate. I’m sure you’ve learned your lesson about hiding things as serious as this, but don’t think for a second that I believe you won’t be sneaky about other things in the future.”

“Well, a man has to keep a few secrets to himself, Swan. Helps with the intrigue.” He smirked as he swaggered his brows at her, earning him an eye roll. “Speaking of intrigue,” he prompted after they’d shared a cleansing laugh to lighten the heaviness that had hung in the air since he’d woken. “How long must I stay here?”

“Whale will probably make you stay another few days at least. He wants to make sure the incision site where they had to extract the brace heals without any complications, especially since the wound was magical in nature.”

Killian let out a long suffering sigh at the prospect of being stuck in bed for several days. At least he wasn’t cuffed to the frame this time around… although, given how his and Emma’s relationship had changed since then...

“I know what you’re thinking, and no,” Emma admonished, pulling her hand from his and standing to her feet. Killian pouted at her, jutting out his bottom lip while his forget-me-knot eyes made a pleading appeal. “No,” she stated again, with a little less conviction; a fact that made the corners of Killian’s lip twitch in triumph. Emma rolled her eyes again and promptly changed the subject. “I’m going to go see what’s keeping Whale. My parents went to get him when you started to stir. I’ll also call Regina and have her bring Henry up. He’s been very worried about you.”

Killian’s chest filled with an affectionate warmth in response to her words. “That would be grand. I’d like to see the lad. Thank you.”

“Is there anything I can get you while I’m gone? And don’t say rum.”

Killian chuckled, “No. Nothing. Just… hurry back?”

“I will. Promise.”

Emma turned to leave, but before she could make her way out the door Killian called out to her. The memory of their interaction the last time he’d been laid up in a hospital bed prompting him to ask, “There is something I am interested in… out of curiosity, where _is_ that bloody hook of mine?” Emma shot him a look, and realization sunk in. “Right… poor choice of words.”


	3. Try Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in Season 2, what if Hook warned the princess squad that Cora had sent a mob of undead after them... and got a little whumped along the way? Canon divergent 2x08.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for @wyntereyez who sent me the undead, “No, stop!”, and lifted by the neck from my Spooktober Roulette.
> 
> Whump Lite: reanimated dead, chased, struck in the head, lifted by the neck, choked / ~2000 words

Hook’s intuition had been correct. Cora had returned to the camp where she had massacred the refugees and left him buried under their corpses for the princesses to find. He waited in the shadows for her to emerge from one of the structures, but before he could confront her he witnessed something that made his blood run cold.

A ghoulish red glow illuminated her face from the pulsating heart in her hand. “Rise,” she commanded coldly, and immediately the dead began to stir. Standing at attention, they awaited her instruction before setting off into the night, giving chase to the princesses and, unbeknownst to Cora, a pirate.

~/~

Emma watched Aurora fall back into the abyss of sleep; a gnawing sensation churning in her stomach. She wanted to have hope, really she did, but it all seemed so....hopeless. The thought of Henry being in a room of fire was gut wrenching; and the way Aurora and Snow had described it, she was dubious that a message could actually be passed under such circumstances.

She felt Snow’s presence follow after her as she retreated several meters back from the sleeping princess. 

“Hey,” Snow whispered as she grabbed Emma’s hand reassuringly. “It’ll be okay. You’ll see Henry again. This will work.”

Before Emma could reply, the sound of snapping twigs drew their attention to the thicket in front of them. Snow readied her bow and took a protective stance in front of Emma, which irritated her for a number of reasons. Before Snow could let loose one of her arrows as warning a familiar voice called out _Swan_ from the tree line.

“Hook? How in the hell did you get here?” A wave of something that might have been relief swept through her at the sight of him, but she forced it back into the hole she had determined to dump all things pirate down into and forget.

“There’s no time for that,” the pirate dismissed as he rushed into their clearing, which prompted Mulan to take up a defensive stance beside the still sleeping Aurora. “We have to go. We have to keep moving. It isn’t safe here.” 

“Uh… there is no _we_ -”

“What do you mean it isn’t safe?” Mulan questioned, cutting off Emma’s retort.

“It’s Cora,” Hook went on to explain. “She reanimated the slain refugees from the camp and has sent them after you.” His face went on quite a journey as he considered his next words before admitting, “She seeks the compass.”

“The compass?” Snow replied. “How does she know-”

“You told her,” Emma stated knowingly. She wasn’t the only open book between them.

“She was waiting for me when I reached the bottom of the beanstalk after _your giant_ finally let me go,” Hook explained with a bit of bite to his words. “I had to tell her what became of the compass. I even offered to retrieve it for her.”

“And how do we know that isn’t what you’re doing now?” Mulan questioned, her sword still poised in his direction, though it seemed to do little in the way of intimidating the pirate.

“You don’t,” Hook quipped. “But Emma does.”

All eyes fixed themselves on her, but his were the only ones she felt. Blazing in their urgency, she knew that he was telling them the truth. He’d come to warn them, to help them. Despite her betrayal he was still willing to give their alliance a shot, and yet…

“Don’t make the same mistake you did atop that beanstalk, Swan,” he pleaded softly, his awareness of her uncertainty written in his expression. “Trust your gut, it’ll tell you what to do.”

~/~

Killian could see the war waging inside the fiery blonde before him. The look on her face when he’d emerged from the thicket hadn’t escaped his notice, and he’d known in that moment that she’d regretted leaving him behind. He understood why she’d done it, of course. The hours he’d spent chained in the giant’s treasure room had allowed him to come to terms with her betrayal. As good of a team as they’d made, and as much as he thought he’d proven himself trustworthy, he _was_ a pirate. It shouldn’t have surprised him that she wouldn’t have been willing to risk returning to her son on a rogue such as he. 

But he needed that trust from her now. 

She had said she couldn’t take a chance that she was wrong about him, and he needed her to draw upon whatever it was she’d seen in him before and believe in it this time. There was no way of knowing what sort of power Cora had given the undead souls making their way to them, but he sure as hell didn’t want to wait around and find out. 

And he didn’t want Swan to either.

She chewed her lip in consideration of his words before opening her mouth to speak. He caught the quick flick of her widening eyes before the sounds of snapping brush erupted behind him. Spinning, he drew his sword, ready to engage with the first of Cora’s hapless minions that appeared from the shadows of the forest. Arrows whistled past his ear as he clashed with a vacant eyed brute of a man, clearly enhanced in strength by the witch that now controlled his heart. 

The princess’ arrows had done their job well, giving them a cushion of distance where they might be able to outrun the remaining mob. Hook dispatched the brute with a move he’d honed and perfected over his many centuries then turned to Swan and her mother.

“Go!” he shouted. “You have to run!”

“What about you?” Emma asked as her mother tried to pull her toward the path the warrior and other princess had already fled down.

“I’ll be right behind you,” he promised, claiming her eyes with his own and offering her a quick nod to backup the vow. “Now, go!” She mirrored the gesture then took off into the forest. 

Hook had heard tales of reanimated corpses on his travels to other realms. Rushing towards the camp’s small fire, he hoped the accounts of their fear of flames would prove true. Armed with a branch he’d set ablaze, he made haste after the princesses, lighting any dry or withered bits of forest in his wake. It was reckless, but it was also their best chance to ensure the corpses couldn’t follow.

Smoke choked the air around him, and his heart hammered in his chest as he sprinted through the trees. Every so often he’d catch a glimpse of Swan’s golden hair which propelled him forward when his lungs began to protest. He caught up to the women, who’d paused to catch their breath, but knew they needed to keep moving. The fire had slowed, but not stopped their pursuers, evidenced by the crashing sounds echoing through the trees from behind.

“We need… to keep moving,” Hook panted.

“I don’t think… we can… outrun them,” Emma responded, equally out of breath.

“Head east,” Hook instructed, waving the smoldering branch in the direction he’d indicated. “My ship is moored in an inlet offshore. We’ll be able to cast off and get away once we’re aboard.”

The cacophony of approaching chaos thundered louder in his ears, and they all took off once more through the trees. The ground became more treacherous with roots jutting up through the carpet of leaves on the forest floor, and downed trees blocking their path. Hook tossed the useless branch aside when it was no longer capable of providing them with the cover of fire, and could hear the mob gaining ground on them without the deterrent of flames. He saw Emma chance a glance back at him just as something caught him around the ankles, pulling him down to the ground.

“Hook!”

“Don’t stop!” he commanded. “Keep going!” 

He watched Snow pull Emma along before he rolled onto his back and gave a swift kick to the minion that had tripped him up. He’d only just regained his stance, sword drawn and ready to face the throng when he was struck upside his head. Stars exploded in his vision and he stumbled backward. His sword was knocked from his grip and the swing of his hook was deflected by a massive arm. If he hadn’t recently spent time in the presence of a true giant, Hook would have mistaken this new brute for one. 

An iron grip wrapped around Hook’s neck and his feet left the ground, hoisted up against the nearest tree with the brute’s hand threatening to crush his airway. He slashed at the trunk like arm with his hook, but the reanimated must not have been able to feel pain. Hook clawed at the hand clenched around his neck, desperate to draw air into his lungs. Black spots began swimming before him and his arms and legs felt heavy as he continued to dangle against the tree. The pressure in his chest was screaming for release, the pain radiating up through the top of his head turned his face a deep shade of crimson. With his consciousness slipping from him, Hook hoped that Emma and her mother would be able to return to their land without his assistance. Though, he had little doubt that the tough lass would ever fail at anything she set her mind to.

As if conjured by his thoughts, he heard Swan shout, “No! Stop!” before he unceremoniously crumpled to the ground at the base of the tree.

Air rushed back into his lungs in an agonizing fashion, leaving him gasping and sputtering while rubbing his bruised neck. Brandishing his sword, Swan fought off the remaining mob with her mother and the lady warrior at her side. He couldn’t help the impressed brow that inched up his forehead as the fourth of their number attempted to assist him to his feet. 

“Are you alright?” the woman, Aurora he remembered, asked.

“Aye,” he croaked, wincing at the tenderness of his throat. 

Within a matter of moments the battle was over. Cora’s victims lay still upon the ground once more, hopefully free to move on to a better place now that they’d served their purpose. Or would she be able to call them up again? Would they ever be free as long as she held their hearts? Hook shuddered at the thought then turned his attention to the approaching blonde.

“Here,” she offered, extending his sword to him. “You’d probably like this back.”

“Thank you, love.” Hook sheathed his sword and looked around at the eyes all fixed on him. Suddenly unsure of where he stood among their number, he reached up to scratch behind his ear as he posed, “The offer of my ship and my services still stands. I will help you get back to your land if you’ll agree to take me with you.”

“I think that sounds reasonable.” 

Snow’s answer surprised them all, as did her determined steps in the direction of his ship. After a sideways glance from the warrior and her companion, they followed in her wake, leaving Hook and a disquieted Swan behind.

“You came back for me.” He hadn’t intended to say the words. His disbelief coated each syllable and exposed a vulnerability he would usually be loathe to reveal.

“Yeah, well.” She shuffled her feet, the same vulnerability making its way through the cracks he could see behind her armor. Lifting her head, she met his gaze and his breath caught at the rarity he knew this raw show of emotion was for her. “Maybe I learned my lesson from the last time I left you behind, and decided to... try something new.”


	4. Pressure Points

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: About a year and a half ago, three days after writing and posting Seeking Refuge, this first scene popped into my head and had to be worded. I initially thought I might try and connect the one shot of SR to this scene with some sort of spy/secret agent plot, but I could never make them match up in a satisfying way. Thanks to @ouatwinterwhump, I can now share this scene, that’s been sitting abandoned in my drafts, as part of a WWP (whump without plot) one shot. 
> 
> Trigger Warnings: Killian!whump (duh), Emma!whump, assault, sexual assault, shock, bound with rope, bound with zip ties, beaten, burned, tortured for information, pressure torture, threat of rape, gagged with duct tape, suspension from ceiling, lacerations, seizure, hurt/comfort
> 
> Rating: M / ~5600 words

 

* * *

Killian was shocked awake as cold water splashed against his face and chest. Sputtering at the frigid impact he immediately began assessing both his injuries and his surroundings.

He was still tied to the chair. Attempting to flex his hands caused pins and needles to shoot up both arms. Breathing was a painful chore, and he was pretty sure a few ribs were at least cracked if not broken. He could feel the throbbing of his pulse under the burned areas of skin along his chest and back, and every surface not burned ached from the pooling blood of bruising starting to form. His left eye was still swollen shut, but his right eye was able to scan the room.

Silver tossed the bucket onto the metal table, the clanging caused Killian to flinch involuntarily. Fortunately it went unnoticed by his tormentor, Killian wasn’t about to show the man any weakness if he could help it. So far he’d been able to take whatever the madman had been able to dish out without revealing any cracks, any weaknesses, anything that could be used against him. He just had to hold out until Liam could call in the cavalry and come after him.

“Well, Mr. Jones-” Silver began.

“Lieutenant.” he corrected… again.

“Indeed,” Silver acknowledged wryly, “ _Lieutenant_ Jones. I was hoping that we could avoid this next bit of unpleasantness, but I’m afraid you have forced my hand.”

Silver signaled to whoever it was behind the two way mirror. Killian’s blood ran cold when the door opened and revealed who was waiting on the other side. Standing in the doorway, hands tied in front of her, was Emma. Killian’s heart sank into his stomach and he could feel the blood drain from his face. _No!_ His mind screamed. How he was able to keep his expression neutral, he’ll never know.

As Silver’s lackey brought her into the room, Killian looked her over with a trained eye to assess any injuries. To his great relief, she appeared unharmed, but his heart seized again when he realized she was in the same clothes she had been wearing the last time he saw her. _She’s been here this whole time,_ he realized with dread. What did that mean for Liam? Had he gotten away, or was he still imprisoned somewhere in this concrete compound? Or worse.

Silver provided him an answer.

“Since your brother has escaped our grasp,” Killian let out the breath he’d been holding, “that just leaves Miss Swan here to act as a bit of motivation for you to answer my questions.”

Killian kept his focus trained on Silver in order to give an air of indifference towards Emma’s presence. In his peripheral he watched as the lackey slung her bindings over a hook and began to hoist the hook up into the air until she hung with only her toes just barely grazing the floor. He could see tremors of fear running over her body and desperately wanted to tell her that everything would be okay. He couldn’t though. To do so would put her in even greater danger.

Satisfied that his prisoner was secure and right where he wanted her, Silver approached Emma. Killian followed him with his eyes, thankful that he could now look at her properly. Fear was apparent on her face, as was the anguish behind her eyes as she looked over his injuries. He wanted to tell her that it looked worse than it was, but again… he couldn’t.

“I held your brother for weeks with the intention of using him to loosen your tongue about the particulars of your mission once I had you in custody,” Silver continued as he circled Emma. “You can imagine my… frustration, when he escaped. Fortunately, Miss Swan it seems wasn’t quick enough in following your brother.”

“I’ve already told you,” Emma spoke with a raspy, though shaky, voice, “I don’t know who that man was. He stole my car and I was trying to get Sheriff Humbert to go after him. That’s all.” Killian suppressed a grin at her tenacity to stick to the script.

“Come, come now, Miss Swan,” Silver tutted. “Do you really think I haven’t done my due diligence? I’ve been to your home,” he stated, and Killian closed his eyes momentarily with a sense of dread. “I found something quite interesting while I was there.” Killian knew what Silver had found; the proof he needed to confirm his suspicion that Emma had been harboring him all this time.

Killian cursed himself a fool and opened his eyes as Silver pulled the proof from his pocket and held it out between them so they could both see it. His dog tags. A memento left behind so she’d have something to remember him by until he might see her again. It had been a rookie mistake to leave a personal item behind, and one that was about to cost them dearly.

Emma gasped and Killian’s eyes shot up to her face. He tried to put every ounce of regret and apology into his gaze while she stared at the tags in confusion before meeting his eyes. After a moment, understanding spread across her face. Understanding. Then fear. Another moment later, resolve. He saw her jaw set as she looked at him with a hard stare that spoke volumes. _This changes nothing. Don’t tell him a thing. Liam will come._

“So, _Lieutenant,_ ” Silver smugged as he returned the dog tags to his pocket, “it seems you’ve spent quite a bit of time with Miss Swan. I imagine she is quite _enjoyable_ company,” he oiled out causing bile to rise up in Killian’s throat.

Emma kept her eyes focused on some imaginary point directly ahead of her and tried to keep her expression neutral, but he could see the shudder that passed over her at Silver’s comment.

Silver loomed over him. Grabbing him by the hair, he pulled Killian’s head back, forcing him to look the bastard in the face. “I’m going to give you one last opportunity to tell me what I want to know before I start to _uncover_ just how enjoyable Miss Swan can be,” Silver said as he ran his tongue over his lips and looked back at Emma with lecherous intent.

Killian let out a deep growl at the man as a war broke out in his mind. He couldn’t subject her to that. He wouldn’t. How much could he tell the odious man to satisfy him without giving too much away? He had to buy them more time.

Knowing the indecision that had begun to creep in, Emma called out, “No, Killian! Don’t tell him anything!” She knew he would do anything to keep her safe, so when he looked up at her in complete anguish she was fervently shaking her head at him.

“Well, well, well, Miss Swan,” Silver responded, turning his attention to her fully, “could it be that you are just as eager for my attentions as I am to give them?”

She answered by spitting in his face.

Silver smiled and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wiping his face as he moved toward the metal table and pulled a blade from the assortment of intimidating instruments. He approached Emma slowly, but deliberately. Like a jackal approaching a downed gazelle. Killian could see Emma begin to shake, but she kept her face like flint.

“Silver, you bastard, touch her and I’ll kill you!” Killian shouted. All of his training being thrown out the window.

Silver signaled the lackey, who snatched a roll of duct tape off the table then secured a strip over Killian’s protesting mouth. Panic coursed through him, reaching heights he had never experienced before as he watched Silver circle Emma while running the dull side of the blade over and around her body.

Even knowing the futility of the action, Killian pulled at his restraints with all his might. Blood rushed in his ears, his entire body shaking with fury and adrenaline that made it difficult to draw breath through just his nose. Beads of sweat broke out along his brow as he kept a fearful eye on the blade Silver ran along Emma’s skin, and he flexed his hands once again, eager to get his hands on it so he could plunge it into the man’s chest.

“Tell me, my dear,” Silver said as he brought the blade flat under her chin causing her to look him in the eye. “Just how close did you and _Lieutenant_ Jones become over these past few weeks?”

Silver trailed the tip of the blade down her neck, between her breasts, and over her abdomen as he spoke, stopping it at her navel. Killian’s heart somehow managed to pick up speed, threatening to pound out of his chest.

“Your cabin, though quaint, isn’t all that spacious,” Silver drawled on as he slipped the edge of the blade under the hem of her shirt. “I assume there wasn’t much in the way of modesty, and seeing you topless, I imagine, would be a sight Lieutenant Jones has already become quite accustomed to.”

He pulled up on the blade and sliced her shirt open from hem to collar, exposing her. Emma flinched and tried to kick away from him, but Silver reached out, grabbed her by her belt loop, and pulled her back towards him. Killian struggled harder on the restraints and screamed out a number of curses and threats forgetting that the tape over his mouth would deliver them void.

“Tell me, Lieutenant,” Silver taunted over his shoulder while he continued to trace the tip of the blade over her skin. Emma had her eyes clamped shut and her head turned into her raised arm in an effort to block out the coming assault, “just how many times since meeting Miss Swan have you had the pleasure to gaze upon her breasts? It seems she’s made that pleasure rather easy for me.”

Silver tossed the blade back onto the table with a clatter that caused both Killian and Emma to flinch. Understanding of what Silver had meant by his comment hit Killian as he watched the son of a bitch unclasp the front of Emma’s bra and replace the pushed aside fabric with his own hands. If Killian clenched his jaw any tighter he was sure to crack teeth. Emma’s whimper and plea that the man stop had Killian seeing red and he vowed to choke the very life out Silver.

Emma cried out again for him to stop when the man dragged a long line from between her breasts, up her neck, and along the side of her face with his tongue. Killian continued to strain against his bindings, ignoring the blood that now ran into his hands from the lacerations the ropes had cut into his skin from his struggles. Silver motioned for his lackey to lower Emma slightly and he moved to stand behind her.

“Lovely, aren’t they, Lieutenant,” he taunted. Reaching around, he forcibly grabbed at one her breasts, causing her to cry out in pain. “And so responsive,” he continued as he softened his grip and started to rub his thumb over her nipple which, despite her lack of want, became taut under his foul touch. Killian’s heart felt as if it were being ripped from his chest. Emma once again had her eyes shut, face tucked into her arm, but he could hear her sobs, could see the tears spilling over her cheeks and the rough rise and fall of her shoulders as she took shuddering breaths. He screamed through the tape that he would talk, that he would give Silver whatever he wanted, but his cries went unheard.

“It’s alright, my dear,” Silver said, pulling her hair away from her neck as he brought his lips against her skin. She recoiled, but he had her firmly planted against him. One hand at her breast and one pressed over her abdomen. He lifted his head from her neck to once again focus his attention on Killian.

“What do you say, _Lieutenant?”_ he asked with a despicable grin, “shall we see just how responsive Miss Swan is?” He snaked his hand down her stomach and under the waistband of her jeans, reaching between her legs. Emma struggled against him with all her might, but then stilled and cried out in pain.

Silver tsked at her. “Now, now Miss Swan. I can either make it quite pleasurable or quite painful, as you now understand.”

The bastard was hurting her, violating her, and Killian was powerless to stop it. What had he just done to her? Tears continued to run down her face, and he realized that his face was wet from more than just sweat as well. Desperate to get Silver to stop, Killian continued to scream through the tape that he would talk.

Silver must have sensed that his captive’s resolve was well and truly broken. With his hands still firmly planted on Emma’s body, he addressed Killian again.

“Last chance, Lieutenant,” he spat. “Tell me what I want to know. Tell me, and I’ll return Miss Swan to her holding cell. Tell me, and you can spend your final hours together, replacing her memories of my hands and lips with yours if you wish. I’ll even promise to make your deaths quick. If not, then the last thing you’ll see is me taking her on this metal table. You’ll die with the knowledge that once I’m done with her, my men will have their fun with her as well before we put a bullet in her pretty head. So, what’s it going to be Jones? Are you ready to talk?”

Emma stared wide eyed at him shaking her head no, all the while he could see the terror in their beautiful green depths. Her bravery broke him, and he slowly began nodding his head. Silver cackled out a demented sounding laugh and released Emma from his hold.

“No!,” Emma screamed at him. “No, Killian, you can’t!” Silver backhanded her across the face to shut her up and Killian growled once again cursing at the man.

“Take her back to the holding cell,” Silver commanded his lackey. “She is not to be touched,” he added with a hard stare of warning. A nod of understanding came from the man who was now releasing her from the hook before forcibly walking her toward the door. Emma continued to plead with him not to tell Silver anything as she was led from the room and all the way down the hall.

Killian relaxed momentarily at the knowledge that she was, for the moment, out of harm’s way. With his guard down he couldn’t stop the cry of pain that escaped his lips as they were freed from the tape being ripped from his mouth.

Silver brought a chair over and set it backwards before him, straddling the seat and crossing his arms over the back. “Now,” he began, “Let’s you and I have a little chat.”

~/~

Emma was thrust unceremoniously through the door and onto the floor of the holding cell she’d been kept in since Silver’s goons had grabbed her. Though she was shaken to her very core, she glared as the brute locked the cell door back into place, a sneer spreading across his face while his eyes lecherously flicked over her. Emma grabbed at the remnants of her shirt, causing the vile goon to bark out a laugh before he turned and headed back down the cold dark passageway.

With trembling fingers Emma fastened the clasp of her bra closed then shed her ripped top, turning it backward in order to give herself more coverage. It did no good, though. She still felt exposed, vulnerable… violated. She wiped harshly against her neck and face with the hem of her shirt, desperate to remove any trace of the Silver’s assault from her skin. Fresh tears fell from her eyes, and she used them to wash away any residue of his vileness, her skin cringing at the areas his hands had been.

Emma crawled over the wall opposite the cell door and pulled her knees up to her chest, squeezing her thighs in an effort to exorcise the haunting of his touch. A sheen of sweat coated her body, yet she continued to tremble. Shock. She must be going into shock. There was an ache in her chest from where her pulse sprinted against her ribcage. Unable to hold back her sobs, she feared she might start to hyperventilate, and focused on calming her breathing.

A feat easier considered than done.

Drips from a leaky pipe echoed through the dimly lit space, and Emma wasn’t sure what was more unnerving; the erie quiet, or the screams that had reverberated down the hall from where Killian had been beaten and tortured for information. Bile crept up her throat and her stomach turned at the memory. Covering her ears to try and block out the agonizing cries had done little to stop his pain tearing through her as if it were her own. She’d wanted to yell out into the black abyss for them to stop, to beg and barter for his torment to come to an end, but she couldn’t. Killian had made her swear to pretend to not know him, no matter what.

She’d kept her promise, fruitless as it was.

The image of Killian’s dog tags flashed before her, and she couldn’t even muster an ounce of anger at him for it. He’d left them for her; a keepsake for her to hold onto, along with the hope that they’d be reunited once his mission was complete. Her heart thumped painfully in her chest and a tightness filled the cavity behind her ribs at the thought that their future might only last for the next few hours.

A piercing scream ripped through the air. The pain of it hit Emma right in the gut, causing her to lose her battle with the churning of her stomach. She barely made it to the bucket in the corner of the cell before retching up burning bile that scorched her throat.

_Why?_ She wiped her mouth then made her way back to the wall, bringing her hands up to cover her ears while fresh tears brimmed in her eyes. _Why are they hurting him again? He agreed to give them what they wanted. Why won’t they stop?!_

~/~

“Is that everything?” Silver questioned. His eyes bore into Killian, looking for any hint of duplicity.

“Aye. That’s all.” Killian hung his head and clenched his jaw, hoping to sell an attitude of contemptuous regret at having to spill the _secrets_ of his mission.

“Hmm,” Silver hummed appraisingly, his eyes still fixed on Killian before flicking them up to another of his minions. “Then I want you to repeat it,” Silver instructed as the other man moved in Killian’s periphery. “Tell my associate everything you just told me.”

“Your associate?” Killian scoffed at the implication they weren’t all just hired muscle, bought and paid for to do the bidding of the true villain and mastermind over their corrupt organization.

“Of course. Where are my manners.” Silver feigned a chagrined expression. “Allow me to present to you my right hand man-”

“Let me guess,” Killian cut off before he snarkily quipped to the goon, “Your boss is Silver, and his boss is Gold. That would make you Bronze, right?” He shot the hulking figure a smirk but the effect was marred when Killian flinched at the pull the action had on his split lip.

Silver huffed amusedly and stood from his chair, placing it back against the wall. “Good luck holding onto your cheek, lieutenant, as you recount the details of your mission to my associate.” Killian’s pulse picked up speed as he watched Silver’s second in command peruse the table of instruments before him. “You see, he finds that when exposed to great amounts of pain, a subject can have a difficult time recalling the exact lies they may have told.” Having found the tool that met with his approval, the man turned and made his way toward Killian. “Let’s see how well your recall is, shall we?”

Killian sucked in a breath and stiffened at the sight of the rusty scalpel in the brute’s hand. Clamping his eyes shut, he focused his mind to withdraw in on itself. A stinging tingle rippled over various areas of his torso, and Killian realized his burns were being opened, exposing the raw skin beneath the blisters that had formed. The sound of something heavy hitting the concrete floor made his eyes snap open in time to see a block of something white crumble against the ground.

Salt.

Despite his best efforts, a hiss escaped him as the man pressed a lump of salt into each wound. The scraping grit and searing effect distracted Killian from the man’s next selection off the table of torment. When the sharp slap of the leather strap made contact with the tender flesh of the first of his seasoned wounds Killian couldn’t hold back the cry of pain that tore from the back of his throat. Another smart snap landed against the burn at his battered ribs, and the impact had him screaming again as the pain validated they were indeed broken.

A final strike landed along the burn under the singed hair on his chest, and Killian’s head was swimming from the rush of endorphins flooding his body. The assault having seemed to come to an end, Killian had almost relaxed his braced muscles when his head was jerked violently backward by his hair.

“I asked you a question.”

His tormentor’s putrid breath made Killian’s stomach turn, and he wracked his brain to recall what it was the man had asked. He couldn’t even remember a question being posed. The man released his rough hold, and Killian grunted, his body succumbing to a spasming shudder that rolled through the length of his body.

“You’d do well to answer my associate’s questions,” Silver advised from his chair against the wall.

“Perhaps your man would be good enough... to ask them when I’m not otherwise... distracted,” Killian bit out through grit teeth and heaving breaths, squeezing his eyes shut against the still stinging sensation of the salt.

The great brute collided his fist with Killian’s face, making his head snap and stars explode in his vision. Pressure released from above his left eye where a new gash began to pour blood down his face. Killian choked back a pained groan when the goon pressed his thumb against the fresh wound, sending a swell of suffering through his eye socket. The question was repeated, and Killian gave the exact answer he had before.

Then the whole process repeated itself.

After the final question had been answered, Killian’s head hung for a completely different reason than it had after Silver’s interrogation. Exhaustion settled over his muscles, the strain of the beating ached in each nerve ending, and his entire body throbbed and shook from the trauma it had endured. He’d done it though. He’d managed to withstand the torture while maintaining the the lies he’d spun to Silver. Emma was safe, and with any luck, Liam would arrive before Silver had a chance to fully corroborate his story. Killian let out a deep, wince inducing sigh, as relief flooded his body.

“Again,” Silver commanded coldly.

A vice of fear gripped Killian’s heart, robbing him of his breath as his stomach flipped. _Again?!_ He wasn’t sure he could survive anymore.

“No. Please,” Killian croaked, his voice hoarse and scratchy from the tenderness of his scream stripped throat. “Please, stop” he begged, turning his gaze to Silver with pleading eyes. He’d abandoned all his training long ago, and didn’t care if the man received the satisfaction of his weakness. He just wanted him to stop.

“I can bring Miss Swan back in, if you’d rather,” Silver offered magnanimously. “See if your answers continue to match up in the face of her treatment at my associate’s… hands.”

Never. Killian would never subject his Emma to more than she’d already endured. Wearily, Killian shook his head, then flinched when Silver clapped his hands together.

“Excellent! Let’s proceed… but first. Perhaps some water for the lieutenant?”

Silver’s generosity surprised Killian. He should have known better, though. When the shock of the cold water hit him, he blamed his addled mind for not expecting it; another cry tore painfully from his lungs from the pins and needles of frigidity piercing his skin. His fists and toes clenched as burning radiated over his wounds, and it wasn’t until he blew the clinging wetness from his lips that he tasted something acidic on his tongue. He struggled to draw breath back into his lungs, and his face pinched in agony while constellations formed behind his eyelids.

“Now, now, Jones. None of that.” Silver’s voice was fuzzy and far away, and yet Killian could feel him slapping against the cheek of his lolling head. “Go get Miss Swan.”

“No!” Killian garbled, willing himself to fight against the oblivion beckoning him into unconsciousness. With great effort he peeled his eyes open and sucked in a deep, lancing breath, allowing the sharp stitch in the side of his chest to revive him. “No,” he repeated with a bit more clarity. “I’ll answer your questions again.”

Silver leaned over Killian and dug his fingers into the sides of his face, forcing the lieutenant to look up at him. “You must really care for her.” He ran an assessing look over the battered man then let go of his face and nodded to his second in command to proceed.

Killian tried to swallow his fear, his breaths shallow and paced much too fast. His pulse metronomed throughout his body, pounding out a fantic rhythm that vibrated in each of his injuries. With wide eyes he watched the brute pluck a wicked looking blade from the table and weigh it in his hand.

Killian involuntarily yanked on his restraints then bit down sharply on his bottom lip at the numbing ache traveling up his arms and the fresh abrasions the rope made over his raw wrists. The strain of his shoulders being forced back for so long sent spasms through the muscles in his chest and back, but Killian pushed aside that discomfort as he struggled against his bindings once more.

In addition to the blade, the goon grabbed the roll of duct tape and long pipe before making his way back. He knelt before Killian, placing the blade on the ground beside him as he began to tape the pipe to the front of Killian’s knees. Breath stuttered in Killian’s lungs, knowing what was to come, and the dread robbed him of any relief he might have felt from his hands and feet being released from their bondage by the man’s blade.

Unable to move from the seat on his own, he was _assisted_ to the floor when the chair was pull out from underneath him, landing him on his back with a jarring force that had his head slamming against the slab. Hands roughly picked him up from under his arms and positioned him into a kneeling position with the pipe pressed into the underside of his kneecaps. Pain shot up both legs and settled into his hips and lower back, pulsating in a matching rhythm to his heart. His hands were once again bound behind him, this time with zip ties that cut deeply into his already ravaged skin and made his hands swell from their strangulation.

Silver’s man picked up a wooden pole and affixed the blade to the end of it before disappearing behind Killian. When he came back into view the pole was nowhere to be seen, but Killian had a pretty good idea as to what he’d done with it. Long minutes stretched before them as Silver and his man stared silently at the now trembling lieutenant. Micro Convulsions erupted throughout his nervous system, a sheen of sweat breaking out over his body as he grunted through the agonizing stricture from the pressure at his knees.

The pain continued to mount and still no questions were forthcoming. Killian gave into the temptation to lean back in an effort to relieve some of the strain, but was met with the sharp tip of the blade piercing into his back from where the goon had positioned it. A hiss slipped passed his lips, every muscle tensing which sent a cascade of fresh hell over his wounds from the constricting pull of tender skin.

The rush of blood became a ringing in his ears, and Killian forcefully shook his head to try and dispel it. He drew in a ragged breath and pinched his brows together; another grunt reverberated through him from the trauma pounding at his knees, hips, and back. He wanted to scream at them to just get on with it!

But their silence deafened the room while Killian’s body roared in agony.

~/~

Heavy footsteps, accompanied by the sound of something being dragged, echoed down the dark corridor. Emma inched her way up the wall, willing herself to sink into the cinderblocks for cover when the footsteps manifested in front of the cell door. She gasped, her heart stopping then lodging itself in her airway as she realized the dragging sound had been Killian’s limp form, slumped over the arms of two of Silver’s guards. She peeled herself away from the wall when the cell door swung open with a clanging force, but couldn’t managed to get there in time to catch Killian as he was roughly cast to the floor.

“Killian!” Kneeling next to him, her stomach joined her heart at the sight before her. “Oh, god,” she breathed, her voice trembling and catching over another round of threatening sobs. “Oh, Killian. What did they do to you?”

Desperate as she was to gather him in her arms, she was worried about causing him anymore trauma or pain. He already looked half dead, and if not for the evidence of the stuttered rise and fall of his chest she’d have feared they’d simply dragged his corpse to the holding cell to further torment her.

“Killian?” she prompted softly, sweeping back the bangs that had plastered themselves against his forehead from blood, sweat, and god knows what else. “Killian, can you hear me?”

His hand shot up and grabbed onto her arm, startling her, as his eyes flew open, wide and ready for a fight before his pain registered across his face. The grip on her arm became a vice, and a groaning utterance of agony rumbled from deep within his chest.

“Shhh. Don’t try to move.”

“E-Emma?” he moaned. His eyes had fluttered shut from the surge of pain and refused to reopen.

Emma leaned over him, offering him shushing noises as she brushed her fingers over his forehead again. “Yes, it’s me,” she assured. His hand released her arm and frantically searched for her hand. She clasped her palm against his then carefully brought his hand up to rest against her cheek. “I’m right here.”

Tears streamed down her face, damming against his hand before changing their course and running down the length of his arm. She worried about the salty residue against his injuries, and started to pull his hand away from her face, but he resisted. That’s when she saw the shimmer of some foreign substance trapped in several of his wounds. Wounds that looked as if they’d been reopened again and again, and several he’d not possessed when last she’d seen him. Emma closed her eyes, unable to take in anymore of the horrors he’d been subjected to, and continued the soothing platitudes of comfort.

An inhuman sound gurgled from the back of Killian’s throat just before his body began to convulse violently. Emma dropped his hand and screamed for help, futile as she knew it was, then moved to place his head in her lap so it would cease slamming against the concrete floor.

“Stay with me, Killian,” Emma pleaded. “Liam’s coming. He’s going to come for us. You have to hang on. Please!”

After several terrifying moments, his body finally stilled. His skin was clammy and his breathing more labored than it had been before. Emma sent up a prayer to any deity that might hear her while cursing Liam Jones. Didn’t he know what they’d do to his brother? Didn’t he care? What was taking him so long? She believed with her whole heart that a rescue _would_ come, but she feared it might come too late for Killian.

An immeasurable amount of time passed before Emma felt Killian start to stir. His awakening toward consciousness was punctuated with the sudden sounds of shouts and gunfire in the distance. The compound shook and rumbled around them, and Emma bent her body forward to shield Killian from bits of dust and debris knocked loose from the ceiling above. The jarring sounds and movements pulled a moan from Killian’s lips, and he murmured Emma’s name once more.

“I’m here,” she answered. “I’m here, and I think Liam is, too.” Off in the distance she thought she heard Killian’s name, as well as her own, being called out. “Down here!” she answered with a note of hysteria in her tone. “Please! Help! He need help!” A cacophony was still playing out in the far reaches of the building, and Emma gave up trying to be heard over it. She turned her focus back to Killian instead. “He’s coming for us, Killian. Just hang on, okay?”

“Aye,” he mumbled weakly, still hovering somewhere between oblivion and lucidness.

Emma’s heart hammered a frantic rhythm, urging their rescue to reach them quickly; still terrified that Killian might succumb to his injuries before medical care could be administered.

“Where is he!” a voice roared from down the corridor several moments later after things went eerily silent, and Emma had called out for help once more. “Where is my little brother?!”

“Younger,” Emma heard Killian mutter, and a relieved smile spread across her face.

He was going to be just fine. They were both going to be just fine. Eventually.

 


	5. Ease Your Pain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> S2 Canon Divergence based on a prompt from Tumblr. 
> 
> Rated T / ~1200 words / stabbed, bleeding, hurt/comfort

“Is there a particular reason that you’re bleeding out on my bedroom floor?”

“Well, it's a little too cold to be bleeding out outside, love.”

Emma threw back the covers and left the warmth of her bed to crouched down next to the pirate collapsed against her bedroom wall. 

“How did you even get here?” 

“Your parents are far too trusting.” He winced as she pulled back his great coat to examine the stab wound in his side. “The door was unlocked.”

Blood seeped out from between his fingers where his hand was pressed firmly over the wound. Emma was relieved to see, even in the dim light of her bedside lamp, that it was bright red in color, and not a darker hue that might signify damage to his organs. He was paler than the last time she’d seen him, but not deathly so. A sheen of sweat glistened over his face and down his neck, his features taut from the pain radiating from his wound.

“I meant how did you get back to Storybrooke?” 

“A woman,” he grunted as Emma prompted him to lean forward so she could remove his coat.

“So, you finally found someone who finds all that pirate swagger and innuendo charming, huh?” An absurd flair of jealous sparked within her chest, but she beat back the flames of it while working open the buttons of his waistcoat and shirt.

“Hardly,” he scoffed amusedly before sucking in a pained breath from the movement his mirth had caused. Leaning forward again so she could peal down his suspenders and remove his ruined garments, he groaned as a fresh flow of blood poured from his side. “She seemed to be cut from the same cloth as you, Swan. Distrustful to the point of restraining me. I spent the entirety of the journey back here tied up in the back of one of those horseless carriages… a truck, I believe she called it.”

Emma now had to tamp down the rising guilt that replaced the flare of jealousy. Placing his hand back over the wound, she told him to stay put while she gathered supplies. 

“So, was it this mystery woman who stabbed you?” Emma asked as she settled back down on the floor beside him.

“No,” he hedged, clearly unwilling to spill the details of how he’d come by the injury.

“Okay… well, is this mystery woman still in town? Do I need to add her to my list of things to worry about?” A hissed fell from his lips when she poured disinfectant over his wound, the chords in his neck straining from discomfort. “Sorry,” she chagrined. “This is gonna sting.”

“You don’t say,” he grit out through his clenched jaw. His nostrils flared from the deep inhale he took before answering her question. “Aye. She and her partner, the man whose car I had that unfortunate run in with, are both still here.”

Emma’s gaze roamed over his torso and the planes of his matte covered chest, cataloging the bruises and abrasions still visible from his last round of injuries. Older scars told her this wasn’t his first experience with being at the receiving end of a blade, and that revelation had her eyes landing on his brace. 

“He survived.” The words popped out before she had a chance to stop them, and her eyes flicked to his. It took a moment before his furrowed brows released in understanding.

“Aye. I know.”

They lapsed into silence, with the occasional groan reverberating from Hook’s chest, as Emma dressed and wrapped his wound. A small amount of blood stained through the first layer of gauze, so she wound another layer around his midsection, all the while mindful of his pain and his proximity.

Once tended to, he offered her a small smile of gratitude. One of the few genuine expressions she’d ever gotten from him.

“Why did you come here, Hook?”

His head fell back against the wall behind him, and his gaze turned upward towards the ceiling. “I can’t kill Rumplestiltskin.”

“Yeah. The guy’s immortal. I tried to tell you that before.” She cocked her head as she studied him. “It was him, wasn’t it. Gold stabbed you.” She didn’t need him to verbally confirm it. “Jesus, Hook. You’re lucky he didn’t kill you on the spot!”

Hook gave her a mirthless chuckle, his hand clutched over the bandages in an effort to stabilize his injury against the movement of his abdomen. “He doesn’t want me dead. He wants me to suffer. Told me that the day he took my hand, the day he took…” His voice trailed off and they both glanced down at the tattoo on his forearm. “I’ve spent centuries trying to find a way to end him.”

“All the while giving him exactly what he wants.”

Hook eyes snapped to hers, wide and startled by her words. “What?”

Emma heaved an exasperated sigh at him, shifting her position to sit cross legged in front of him. “Has it never occurred to you that while you were plotting your revenge you were actually playing right into Gold’s hands? You’ve spent centuries being exactly what he wanted you to be. Miserable. Tell me, Hook. How has that worked out for you?”

His mouth hung open, her words visibly spinning behind his eyes as he considered the truth of what she’d said. When he looked back at her his mouth tried to form words that wouldn’t come, and Emma saw something in his eyes she’d only briefly caught a glimpse of when they’d climbed the beanstalk together. The look of someone utterly lost. A look she knew all too well.

“Come on.” She tucked herself into his side, under his arm, and urged him off the floor. He stifled a cry of pain, but managed to get to his feet with her assistance. 

“If I’d known what it took to get into your bed, I’d have gone and gotten myself stabbed sooner,” he quipped as she lead him to sit gingerly on the edge of her bed.

“I can still throw you out to bleed to death in the cold, you know.” She knew her words didn’t convey a tone of any actual threat, but his expression and muttered response of  _fair point_  told her that he was all too aware of that fact.

“Try and rest,” she told him after removing his boots and gathering up a blanket and pillow to take downstairs. “I’ll have Whale come by tomorrow to check that, then we’ll figure out what to do about the woman who brought you back from New York.”

Before she hit the first step he called out to her. “Swan, I…” The words caught in his throat, but Emma already knew what they were.

“I know,” she assured him, and he nodded at the understanding forming between them. The air swirled thickly around her, and she had to shake off the compulsion to crawl into her bed next to him. “I’ll bring you something to help ease your pain,” she said before turning and retreating down the loft steps. 

Halfway down his voice carried loud enough for his words to ring in her ears and settle in her chest.

“You already have.”


	6. Mine Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Captured Lieutenant Jones faces the auction blocks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rated T / ~1250 words / captive, stripped, collared, groped, assaulted, sold

* * *

 

Killian flinched at the sound of clanging metal when his captor swung the cell door wide, allowing it to bang against the bars of his cage.

“On yer feet!” 

This proved not an easy task as he, and the other prisoners, had their wrists and ankles bound. Leveraging himself against the wall at his back, Killian crept up inch by inch only to have his feet knocked out from under him.

“Not you,” the ruffian gruffed. “Captain’s got other plans for you… Lieutenant” His sneer revealed vile blackened teeth, and Killian had to turn his face in disgust at the putrid stench of the man’s breath when he guffawed in his captive’s face.

Killian watched with mounting panic as his fellow crewman were led out of the cell. What did the pirates mean to do with them? Would they be made to walk the plank? Marooned? No, Killian calmed himself. They’d docked somewhere overnight. He’d heard the orders being called out in the early hours of the morning, and could tell by the gentle sway of the ship beneath him that they were now anchored in port. But which port? And why had he been separated from his men?

It would be several hours before he had any sort of answer.

Pain shot up his arms, and he had to stifle a cry when he was awoken later by rough hands hoisting him to his now unbound feet. Icy prickles rippled through his extremities as blood attempted to rush back into places that had long sense fallen numb. Half dragged and half stumbling, Killian was brought on deck then unceremoniously cast to the boards at the captain’s feet. Killian stared daggers at the man as he was positioned onto his knees, flanked by two loathsome pirates while their captain looked on with amusement.

“Your men brought me a fine sum.” A pouch jingled, heavy with coin, from the man’s hand, and Killian swallowed back the bile that rose from his stomach. His men, his friends and brothers in arms, had been sold like cattle. Disgust raged in his gaze, but the captain paid it no mind when he finally met his prisoner’s eye with a sinister gleam in his own. “I’m betting you’ll bring a fair bit more though. Strip him.”

Once again, Killian was lifted to his feet. He stood tall, chin defiantly jutted forward as he endured the humiliation of being stripped bare. He wasn’t going to give these blackguards the satisfaction of any weakness, regardless of how his pulse raced and palms began to sweat at the vulgar and lascivious comments from the rest of the leering crew.

“Bring the collar,” the captain commanded with a flourishing hand. 

A rusted metal ring was passed to his waiting palm, and the two flanking guards grabbed Killian’s arms in order to keep in place while the ring was affixed around his neck then secured tightly with a pin. Rope was then threaded through a link at the front and knotted, creating a lead line.

“It’s off to the blocks with you, Lieutenant. Do try and look enticing the buyers, won’t you?”

A chorus of laughter rang out across the deck as Killian was jerked by the neck to follow his leash master. Barefoot and naked, with his hands still secured behind his back, Killian was paraded through the bustling bazaar towards the seedy auction blocks at the center of the market. 

Opportunistic hands reached out from the crowds as he walked passed, stroking his body and groping at any part of himself they could before being pushed away by his captors. By the time they reached the market square a tremble had broken out over Killian. He was out of breath from the trek from the docks, and his breathing further shallowed as panic over what was to come coursed through him. 

His captor spoke in a foreign tongue to a tall, dark man who flicked his gaze towards Killian, appraising him with interest. The lead line was transferred from the pirate crewmen to the bondsman overseer, and Killian was again roughly pulled forward. His new master brought him up onto a raised platform where his wrists were released from their restraints. Before Killian could capitalize on this small bid of liberation to try and make some sort of escape attempt, the rope attached to his collar was secured to post with a menacing looking guard, armed with an equally menacing curved blade standing between Killian and the simple knot that could mean his freedom.

A sharp command was given by the overseer and it was then that Killian became aware of the crowd beginning to gather before him. Without warning a flurry of shouts and gestures erupted from the mob. Insistent hands grabbed onto Killian and he jerked away, earning him a stinging strike from a leather crop across his back. The hands returned, turning him this way and that so the bidders could get a view of each of his assets. As quickly as it began, the frenzy stopped and he was being yanked by the neck off the platform. His hands were tied in front of him this time, before being taken to a tent nearby.

It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim light within the tent, but soon he made out a handful of figures dressed in finery, the likes of which Killian had never seen. Six pairs of eyes drilled into him, raising his anxiety to heights of near hysteria, even as he kept his features and countenance stalwart. Some mysterious signal caused the men to step aside, revealing a new figure.

Stepping forward was possibly the most stunning woman Killian had ever seen.  He flushed under her intense scrutiny, mindful that he had not a stitch of clothing covering him. His breath caught when she stopped just inches from him, then stuttered in response to her hands running up his torso, her finger tips toying with the hair that covered the planes of his chest. A smirk pulled at her gorgeous lips when his member twitch between them, her eyes flicking down quickly before meeting his wide-eyed gaze.

“I think you’ll do nicely.” She wound the rope of his collar around her hand then forcefully pulled, bringing his face down to hers. Her emerald eyes roamed over his features before staring back into his. Her sweet breath ghosted over his lips as she commanded. “Come along… slave.”

“My name is Killian,” he said, the muscle in his jaw jumping at the despicable label. “Killian Jones.” 

“I know who you are,  _Lieutenant.”_

Something angry flared behind her eyes, sending a small shiver down Killian’s spine. He wet his lips and swallowed heavily. “You know who I am, and yet, I haven’t had the pleasure of learning  _your_  name.”

The woman coyly looked up at him through her long lashes, all hints of animosity momentarily gone from her gaze. “What fun would that be?” Impossibly, she leaned even closer, and for a moment Killian thought she meant to kiss him. “Who I am is of no consequence,” she purred huskily, the hand not tightly gripping his leash skimmed down his arm, drawing her eyes with it. “All you need to know is-” Her eyes returned to his, a coldness that seeped down into his bones and threatened to stop his heart filling their green depths. “-you’re  _mine_ now.”


	7. Burden of What Ifs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three days ago, when stumbling out of the Rabbit Hole, Emma Swan was kidnapped. Now she’s being held hostage by two men, referred to only as Hook and The Wizard, with no idea why she was taken, or what was about to happen to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t ask where this came from, because I have no idea. Words started forming on the page and - BAM! - fours days and 10k words later… this happened. Now that it’s here, I asked if I could submit it for the @ouatwinterwhump event, and they said sure. So, here you go. 
> 
> Warnings: whump, lady whump, kidnapping, restrained, assault, sexual assault, attempted rape, threat of rape, beaten, gunshot wound, bleeding out, tased with stun gun, and other bad things, I’m sure.

 

* * *

Consciousness fluttered through Emma’s mind and body, but she steadfastly refused to open her eyes. She knew the view would be the same as it had been the two mornings prior, and she wasn’t ready to let that reality in. Despite her attempts to block the evidence of her surroundings, all the horrible details eventually made their way into her awareness. The lumpy mattress beneath her, the threadbare blanket that did nothing to ward off the chill of the concrete room, the incessant dripping of the faucet echoing from the small bathroom around the corner, and the most compelling detail of all that served to remind her of the fearful position she was in: the handcuff around her wrist, securing her to the metal framework of the bed.

Three days ago, Emma Swan had been kidnapped.

Two men had grabbed her as she stumbled out of the local watering hole, and her usual Saturday night haunt, The Rabbit Hole. She’d tried to fight back, even scratched one of them pretty good along the back of his neck, but she’d been too tipsy and uncoordinated to stop him from wrestling her into the car. He’d put a rag, soaked with an overly pungent odor that would probably have made her puke if it hadn’t knocked her out first, over her mouth. That was the last thing she remembered before waking in the dungeon like cell with the two men still present.

They’d ignored her for the most part that first day. The one called _Hook_ had told her not to ask any questions, do as she was told, and she’d be out of there in no time. He’d then gone back to whatever it was he’d been doing on his laptop, seemingly forgetting she was even there. The other man, _The Wizard_ , had paid her a bit more attention. A little too much attention for her liking.

It had started out friendly enough. He’d brought her food and water, and uncuffed her whenever she’d said she had to use the bathroom, even offered her the paper to read so she’d have something to do. He also never took his eyes off her, and not because he feared she would somehow escape. Emma didn’t like what she saw in his stare and tried with all her might to ignore him like his partner was ignoring her.

The two men didn’t converse much with one another, but when they did it allowed Emma to study them. Memorizing every detail of their faces, and searching exposed skin for any identifiable markings, it wasn’t until the second morning that she considered something terrifying. They hadn’t worn masks, which meant they weren’t concerned about her ability to describe them to the authorities. Emma had seen enough crime dramas to know, that didn’t bode well for her chances in walking away from this scenario. She wasn’t going to just roll over and accept defeat, though. So, she’d kept studying the men all throughout the second day as well.

The Wizard was lean with sharp features. A mop of messy brown hair with bangs that hung low on his forehead gave him an almost boyish quality, but it was belied by the predatory grin and gleam in his dull brown eyes he sported when he caught her staring. Hook was altogether different. By all accounts, his outward appearance immediately screamed danger. His hair was a much darker shade of brown, and no less unruly, with stubborn sections he kept having to brush back off his forehead. Thick brows rested over brilliant blue eyes that had taken her breath away the first time they’d met her gaze. Well, rested wasn’t exactly the right word. They were rarely at rest, arching, furrowing, and raising of their own accord, as he clacked away on his keyboard or read from the book he’d occasionally pull from his pocket. A battered copy of Peter Pan… the Hook reference started to make sense, and Emma found that it suited him.

During the second day of her captivity, he’d uncuffed her wrist once when she’d needed to use the restroom. The Wizard (or Wiz, as Hook had begun to call him, much to the man’s disgruntlement) had commented early in the day his need to go run an errand, and Emma had held her bladder for as long as she could until he’d left. He had started to get a bit handsy, and Emma couldn’t stomach the idea of him touching her anymore. Before Hook had secured the restraint back over her wrist, he asked if she might like something to wrap around it so the metal wouldn’t dig in as badly. Without a response from her, he pulled out a black handkerchief from his pocket (who even carried those anymore?) and wrapped it several times around her wrist. With one hand holding the cloth in place, and the other around her free wrist as a precaution, he’d had to knot the ends together with his teeth. Emma hated her treacherous heart for stuttering in its rhythm, and her usually calm belly for the swoop she’d experienced from his action. After securing her to the bed frame once more, he told her he’d be out to run some errands himself the next morning, and asked if there was anything she’d like him to bring her: toothbrush, hairbrush, something specific she might like to eat or drink.

Emma had stared dumbfounded at him for several moments, still trying to calm her racing heart and shortened breaths, before incredulously replying, “What? So now you’re going to be gentleman?” Her eyes widened and she’d bit her lip in fear. She hadn’t really meant to mouth off to him, and she half expected a violent reaction to her snark.

He chuckled instead.

“I think you’ll come to find, Swan-” Her rapid pulse absolutely did not skip at his use of her name. “-that I’m always a gentleman.” He winked at her just as the door opened, the Wizard having returned from his errands, then stood and went back to his laptop, where his attention remained for the remainder of the day, looking every bit the gentleman pirate.

It was now morning number three, and Emma wasn’t sure how much longer she was expected to sit and wait for whatever it was _they_ were waiting on to happen. She’d been told to not ask questions, and her fear had kept her from doing so in the beginning, but now… she wanted answers. Determined to get some sort of explanation, Emma opened her eyes and started to sit up.

“Well, good morning, gorgeous.”

A shudder of dread rippled over Emma at the sound of the Wizard’s voice. Looking around, her panic spiked when she realized Hook had already left on those errands he’d told her about the day before.

“How, uh… how long has Hook been gone?”

Emma scooted back further up the mattress when she noticed the man making strides towards her. The glint in his gaze caused a tremble to break out over her nerve endings.

“He’s been gone for awhile,” the man replied, and to Emma’s horror he began unbuckling his belt, “but don’t worry. I think there’s still time for you and I to have a bit of fun.”

Rising bile choked the scream trying to escape her throat, and all she could do was shake her head while she jerked her wrist, desperate to be free from her restraint. She was finally able to yell out a _no_ when he yanked her down onto her back before crawling on top of her. She kicked her legs and twisted her body as hard as she could to try and throw him off, but it was no use. Tears slipped past her lashes and poured sideways towards her ears as his lips met her neck. _This wasn’t happening_ , her mind protested in denial, and she slammed her eyes shut to try and block out assault. _This couldn’t be happening._

This wasn’t going to happen.

She opened her eyes and looked down at the man’s head, his mouth still forging a disgusting path down her neck. One hand had her other wrist in its grip, the other groped its way up her body until it landed at the button of her jeans. While his focus was on undoing her pants, Emma lifted and angled her head until her mouth was in reach of his ear. She opened wide then bit down hard on the sensitive cartilage, tasting blood as his surprised and pained cry filled the room.

He yank his head away, and sat up onto his knees, straddling her. “You little bitch!” The back of his hand exploded against her cheek, snapping her head to the side. Stars flooded her vision, a hazy blackness creeping along her periphery, and she shook her head to try and dispel it. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he promised darkly. “I was planning to let you enjoy it, but now…”

His voice trailed off menacingly, and Emma braced herself for what was to come when he continued to unzip her jeans. She must have started crying, that had to be why neither of them heard the door open, unaware that Hook had returned until his roar of outrage rang out from across the room.

“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing!” He pulled her attacker off her then shoved him far away from the bed. “This wasn’t part of the deal, mate.”

“The deal? What deal? It’s been three days, _mate._ I’d say the deal’s off at this point, and if I’m not getting paid, then I think I’m entitled to _take_ a little something for my time.”

“Well, you’re not taking it from her,” Hook growled as he stood protectively between her and the Wizard.

The Wizard relaxed his demeanor, a look of understanding sweeping across his face. “Oh, I get it.” He shook his head and made an amused sort of noise before taking a couple of steps towards Hook with a sickening grin on his lips. “If you wanted the first go with her, all you had to do was say so. I don’t have a problem with taking sloppy seconds.”

Hook’s fists clenched at his sides. It looked as though he was about to slug the Wizard for his comment, but a phone on the table in the center of the room began to buzz, drawing all of their attention. Hook and the Wizard looked from the phone to each other and back again before the Wizard stepped over to answer it.

“Yeah. This is the Wizard.”

He said nothing else after that, listening to whoever it was on the other side of the line for a few moments before nodding his head towards the door, indicating that Hook should follow him out in order to continue the call without being overheard. Before following the Wizard towards the exit, Hook looked back at her. The tempest whirling in his now storm-blue eyes made her breath seize in her lungs. Rage and regret, guilt and remorse, things she couldn’t identify (or could, but denied their sincerity) filled them, leaving her with her own maelstrom of emotions after he left.

Tears streamed down her face, and her body shook uncontrollably. The adrenaline of the event was wearing off, causing a sense of shock to overtake her. She pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her free arm around them before laying her forehead against them. Her cheek throbbed and her skin crawled. The coppery remnants of his blood in her mouth made her stomach roll, and she feared she might be sick on the bed. She flinched away from the feel of a hand on her shoulder, and her head shot up in panic.

“It’s only me, love,” Hook assured in a soft voice. “He’s gone for now. I told him to go take some time to… cool off.”

Emma nodded and attempted to swallow past the parched, raw lining of her throat. Her chin trembled and she looked away before he could see the fresh tears pooling in her eyes. The sound of the key being inserted into the lock of her hand cuff pulled her attention back to him, and her eyes snapped up to meet his when he gently removed the metal from around her bandaged wrist. She pulled her wrist to her chest, and attempted to soothe away the soreness with her other hand, all the while staring at Hook with cautious and curious eyes.

“Here.” He picked up a plastic sack that had been sitting beside him and placed it onto the bed. “I got you a few things to hopefully make you a bit more comfortable.” Emma could see a toothbrush, some wet wipes, and a stick of deodorant, among other things, inside the bag. She locked eyes with him again and found a soft, unsure expression staring back at her from his forget-me-not blues.

“Th-Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he waved off before holding out his hand to assist her off the bed. “Why don’t you go freshen up, and I’ll see about getting you something to eat, yeah?”

She nodded, grabbed the sack of supplies, and hurried to the restroom. The door had no lock, but Emma knew she wouldn’t need one. Not with Hook. She was safe with him. Well, as safe as she could be in her situation. Even still, somehow she just knew he wouldn’t hurt her, that she could trust him.

 _Great, Emma. You’re going all Stockholm Syndrome with the hot kidnapper,_ she chastised herself.

He was hot, though.

_Snap out of it!_

Emma splashed cold water onto her face, then spent the next several minutes making use of the resources Hook had provided her. A blush crept up her neck at the pair of panties he’d included. Knowing he’d picked out underwear for her had her flushing with embarrassment, and… something else.

The man had good taste.

_For fuck sakes, seriously?! Did you forget the man abducted you? Probably plans to kill you?! Get it together, Swan!_

When Emma opened the bathroom door, she found Hook seated at the rickety table in the center of the room. Two plates of food were laid out, one in front of him and the other across the table.

“I thought you might like to enjoy a meal at the table for a change.” When she didn’t immediately make her way towards him, he reached up and scratched behind his ear. Emma could see the remnants of the angry red welts lingering on his tanned skin from where her nails had dug into his neck days before when he’d grabbed her. She bit back an apology that unexpectedly formed on her tongue and met his searching gaze. “You’ve nothing to fear from me, Swan,” he assured her with a deep sincerity in his eyes. “No matter what you may think, I assure you I am not the bad guy. Not really.”

Emma knew that to be somewhat true. He hadn’t been the one to assault her, after all. He flicked his eyes to the empty chair opposite him then looked at her expectantly, cocking his head to the side as he waited. With slow, uneasy steps, Emma made her way to the chair and sat down. The plate before her was filled with cut fruit and miniature muffins, obviously prepackaged and most likely purchased from one of the box stores in the area where he’d acquired her toiletries.

Nibbling on the breakfast he’d provided her, a question kept swirling through her mind. Well, several actually, but one was taking precedence over all others. He’d told her not to ask questions, and she didn’t really want to press her luck considering everything he’d done for her, and yet...

“Does that mean you aren’t planning to kill me?”

Hook’s head shot up, his brows deeply furrowed and his lips slightly parted in astonished confusion. “I beg your pardon?”

Emma swallowed against the tightness in her throat and wet her lips before clarifying. “You said, I didn’t have anything to fear from you. Does that mean you aren’t planning to kill me?”

“What gave you the impression we were going to kill you?”

“You aren’t wearing masks.”

Her simple statement caused understanding to flood his features. His brows relaxed and a remorse tinted smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

“I see. You thought we weren’t concerned with you seeing our faces because you wouldn’t live long enough to describe them to anyone. Is that it?”

Emma toyed with the crumbs of the muffin on her plate and lightly shrugged her shoulders. Now that the question was out there, she wasn’t sure she really wanted an answer. When she didn’t give any kind of vocal response, Hook reached out and covered her hand with his. His fingers brushed the handkerchief still tied around her wrist, drawing her eyes first to their action, then up his arm until they met his brilliant blues.

“I promise you, Swan. No harm will come to you whilst you’re in my charge. The fact that you’ve seen our faces is of no consequence.”

“Really?” Emma wanted to believe him. Everything within her said he was being honest (and she’d always been good at spotting a lie), but the facts were playing against him. He’d abducted her, kept her cuffed to a bed, and left her alone with a man who’d tried to... “So, you’re not concerned that I can describe you in detail to the authorities once I’m free?”

The corner’s of his lips twitched, and one brow arched playfully up his forehead. “Been admiring the view, have we Swan?” A rush of rouge tinted heat swept up her neck and settled at her cheeks, eliciting a deep chuckle from the man across from her, who still had his hand over top hers. “No, love. Wiz and I are not concerned about your ability to describe us. He’s too much of a megalomaniac to believe it’ll make a difference, and probably relishes the idea that it’ll give him some sort of notoriety.”

“And you?”

Hook popped a grape into his mouth then waved his hand with unaffected flourish. “The authorities already know who am I and what I look like. You telling them of my involvement in your abduction won’t make any difference, not with the list of other crimes they know I’ve had a hand in.”

“So, my testimony wouldn’t matter, because if they catch you there are other crimes they can already prove your involvement in?”

“Aye. And I appreciate the caveat of the _if_ , love.”

He winked at her, a devilishly handsome smile spread across his face, and Emma had to mentally kick herself again. This was not a man she should be charmed by. She pulled her hand free from his and rested it in her lap, focusing her attention once more on the food in front of her.

“I apologize that added to your worries, Swan,” he told her sincerely. “I know this whole experience has been terrible for you, but I promise love, it’s nearly over.”

Hot, stinging tears pooled in Emma’s eyes. How dare he show concern for her now. How dare he act as if he cared. And how dare she find comfort in his words.

“Why?” she sniffled softly, hating every ounce of vulnerability leaching out of her in his presence. “Why am I even here?”

“I can’t answer that, Swan,” he answered stiffly.

She knew he wouldn’t tell her, or couldn’t. It didn’t stop the questions and thoughts she’d been harboring for days on end from pouring out, though.

“I’m _nobody_. There’s no one to ransom me to, no one that could afford to pay a ransom, or even care enough to shell out more than a fucking dime! None of this makes any sense! You had to have of taken the wrong girl! You made a mistake, that’s the only explanation!”

At some point she’d stood up and started pacing in panicked hysteria. The damn had broken, and there was no holding back the emotions that had built up behind its fortification the past few days.

“There was no mistake, love,” Hook said calmly. “I can’t tell you anything more than I already have, except this.” He stood and walked toward her with purposeful steps. Frozen in his piercing gaze, she didn’t so much as flinch when he placed his strong hands on her shoulders. “You are _not_ a nobody, Swan. There are a number of people worried sick about you, and I _promise_ you. You are going to see them again very soon. I just need you to be strong a bit longer. Can you do that for me?”

Emma felt herself nod as he brought his hand up to wipe away her tears. Still mesmerized by those intense blue eyes, she let him wrap his arms around her and bring her in close to his chest. She’d almost placed her hands along his back to reciprocate the hug when reality caught up with her.

“Don’t.”

She wriggled enough to push him back. He raised his hands in supplication, his eyes no longer fixed on hers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” His voice trailed off and his jaw muscle ticked. The hardened expression returned, and his eyes snapped back up to meet hers. Cold and detached. “It won’t happen again.”

The door swung open, revealing the Wizard. He strode inside, but stopped short when he saw the two of them standing in the middle of the room.

“What the fuck, man?” he questioned incredulously. “What? Are we just letting her roam free now?”

“Relax,” Hook shot back. “I let her eat at the table for a change. I was just about to cuff her to the bed again.”

“Well, you better get a move on. It’s almost time for your meeting.”

“Don’t you mean _our_ meeting, mate?”

The Wizard gave him a wicked looking grin. “You and I were both on that call. They only requested you, which means I get to stay behind.” He turned his attention to Emma, and her stomach rolled with fear. She glanced over to Hook with pleading in her eyes.

“If you think I’m going to leave her alone with you, after the stunt you pulled earlier, you’re mad.”

“Hey, one of us has to stay behind and keep an eye on her, and they asked for you personally, so…”

“She’ll be cuffed to a bed in a locked room. She’s not going anywhere. We can _both_ go.”

“Ah, but I don’t want to,” he taunted childishly, leaning back against the concrete wall and crossing his arms over his chest. “And if you’re going to make it to the meet site in time, you can’t afford to waste another minute arguing with me about it… _mate_.”

Hook expelled a deep breath then looked over at Emma. “He’s right. I have to go.” She started to shake her head, her eyes wide with panic. “But I’m going to leave you with this.” Hook grabbed his jacket off the back of the chair and pulled something out of the inner pocket.

“Hey, now,” the Wizard protested, uncrossing his arms and posturing himself as if expecting an attack. “We agreed. No weapons.”

“Actually, we agreed to no firearms or blades,” Hook countered. “This is neither.”

He held up the item, and Emma identified it immediately. “A stun gun?”

“Aye. If he gets within arms reach of you, he’ll meet the business end of twenty million volts.” Hook depressed the triggers and blue, more vibrant than his eyes, arced between the metal prongs. Emma stepped forward to accept the weapon from him, but he pulled it back before she could reach it. “I’m sorry love, but before I can give this to you… I need you cuffed to the bed.”

He raised his brows and waited for her compliance. Emma wavered for a moment. What if he didn’t actually give her the stun gun? Then she’d be trapped without any way of defending herself.

Hook took a step forward and placed a hand under her chin, bringing her eyes up to meet his. “I’m not going to leave you helpless, love. I just need some assurances that you’ll be here when I get back, and that you won’t use this against me as I put that assurance in place. Do you understand?”

Emma nodded then turned and made her way to the bed, sitting on the edge and holding out her wrist for him to secure the cuff. Once her restraint was back in place, Hook stood and moved back a step before tossing the stun gun her way.

“Now remember. If he gets within arms reach-” His words were cut off by the sharp buzz and flash of blue arcing from the live weapon in Emma’s hands. A wide grin spread across Hook’s face. “Good girl.”

He threw on his jacket and started for the door, pausing to utter something to the Wizard before making his exit. Something that made the other man pale, then shoot a thunderous look at the door once he was gone. Emma tracked the man’s movements from the door to the chair she’d sat in earlier, the stun gun held firmly in her grip, ready to use at a moment’s notice.

“He’s not your white knight, you know,” the Wizard snarled, his eyes beady and dark with anger.

“What?”

“Hook,” he spat. “He’s not going to be your knight in shining armor. However bad you think _I am_ , he’s worse. Would you like me to tell you how he got the name _Hook_?”

Emma really didn’t want to know, but he told her anyway. In explicit detail. A tale that ended with Hook’s victim disemboweled by the instrument of his namesake and left hanging from it publicly as a warning to others who thought they could cheat or wrong him in some way. She was sure her face had gone pale during the telling as the Wizard’s had become more and more gleeful with each grimace of her disgust. Despite the fact that nothing in his story rang false in her ears, she couldn’t help but think he was full of shit. She was under no delusions that Hook was any kind of saint, but something in her gut told her she could trust him.

“So, whatever it is he told you to make you all _compliant_ , you can’t trust him,” the Wizard continued. “You’re a commodity to him. A means to an end. You’re only valuable, so long as you’re profitable, and once you’re not-” He finished by dragging his finger across his throat in a slashing motion.

“You really think I don’t know that?” Emma scoffed. “Like I’m really going to put my faith and trust in a man like that?” The Wizard blanched at her words, clearly taken aback by them. “I understand the kind of man Hook is. We understand each other. I’m a means to an end for him, and he’s a means to an end for me.”

“How is he a means to an end for you?” the man sneered dismissively. “You’re still locked away in here and chained up like some animal. Whatever happened between you two while I was gone must not have had that big of an impact on him.”

“Really?” Emma depressed the buttons on the stun gun, sparking it alive once more.

“That has less to do with you girlie, and more to do with me.”

“Because he doesn’t trust you?” Emma asked with a needling tone underpinning the question.

“It isn’t a matter of trust.” He wasn’t looking at her any more, instead his focus switched to the locked room door. He eyed it with a flicker of questioning, before returning his hard gaze to her. “Hook and I have an agreement. I wouldn’t expect you to understand how these things work.”

“Right. An agreement.” Emma toyed with the threadbare ends of the blanket next to her, shrugging nonchalantly as she pondered aloud, “An agreement that implied there would be no weapons between you?” She glanced up at the man’s taut face as she fidgeted with the stun gun in her hand. “I can see why you’d warn me that he can’t be trusted. He can be a sneaky bastard, huh?”

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” _Low hanging fruit,_ Emma thought, but kept her mouth shut as the man continued to seethe. “I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” Emma feigned innocence.

“You’re trying to make me question Hook’s loyalty. Well, joke’s on you, sweetheart. I’ve never trusted Hook.” A wide grin spread across his face as if he’d won their tete-a-tete. It didn’t last long.

“Then you are an idiot.” Emma’s words changed the man’s expression to one of thunder. She knew she was playing with fire, but working one man against the other seemed to be her only recourse. She wasn’t relying on anyone, least of Hook, to save her. _The only one who saves me, is me._

“What did you say?”

“You’re an idiot,” Emma snapped. “You don’t trust the guy, and rightly so, but you’ll let him go off _on his own_ to a meeting, I can only deduce, you’ve waited three days for, so you can what? Try and get your rocks off without getting jolted by twenty million volts of electricity? Warn me off of the guy who still bears the marks _I_ put on his neck when he grabbed me off the street?”

The Wizard shifted in his seat, and an angry flush started creeping up his neck. “The deal was for Hook to be at the meeting,” he argued unconvincingly.

“And I’m sure he had nothing to do with that,” Emma muttered just loudly enough for her words to reach his ears.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, come on,” Emma exasperated, fighting back a smile that she had the man hooked (no pun intended) and was prepared to reel him in. “If Hook is as merciless and cunning as you’ve made him out to be, would he really be the one _you’d_ want to deal with directly? I mean, out of the two of you, which one makes more sense to have some private meeting with?”

“But Hook was under the impression we’d both go to the meeting,” he countered.

“So he says.” Emma went back to picking at the ends of the blanket. “I don’t know, it just seems a little too coincidental that the phone call finally came after he’d been out _running errands_ , and then they only ask to meet with him. I mean, I’m sure it’s a coincidence that it all went down after you made your intentions against me known, but it sure seems like a perfect set-up.”

“A set-up?” The Wizard swallowed heavily, and his fists clenched.

“Yeah. He gets them to call the meeting, asking only for him, then he uses your interest in me against you. Offers me food at the table, sweet talks me into thinking I can trust him, flirts, holds my hand, gives me a hug.” His knuckles began turning white from the strain, and Emma was sure his teeth would crack if he clenched his jaw any tighter. “He had to have known that would get a rise out of you, forcing you to insist on staying behind with me. He puts up a tiny argument to make it seem like he doesn’t care about going to the meeting alone, but then leaves the two us together in a set up meant to keep our focus on each other and not him. It’s kind of brilliant really. A perfect plan to cut you out of whatever deal he’s making right now.”

“Son of a bitch!” The Wizard exploded. He stood with enough force to send his chair careening backward, and Emma flinched at the sudden burst of rage. She held the stun gun at the ready as he maniacally paced the floor, just in case his rage focused itself onto her. “If that bastard thinks he can cut me out-” Emma flinched again when the man flipped the table over onto its side, “-he’s got another thing coming!” Without a backward glance the man wrenched open the door and slammed it shut behind him, leaving Emma alone for the first time in three days.

She scoured the area around her, desperate for something to try and pick the lock of the cuffs with. It had been awhile since she’d used that particular skill, and never on a set of handcuffs before, but it couldn’t be all that much different than any other lock, right? After all, it was all about the tumblers.

By the time she found and shaped a piece of metal that might work, she knew too much time had passed. She expected either Hook or the Wizard to return at any moment, and once out of the cuffs she’d have the locked door to contend with. Knowing she had to work quickly didn’t help her already frayed nerves. Her hands shook and became sweaty as she tried to maneuver the length of metal against the tumblers. The scrapping sound of the door pushing open startled her, and she dropped the makeshift tool onto the floor, eyes snapping up to see a worked over Hook stumbling into the room.

“Hook?” Emma gasped. “What happened?”

He was cradling his ribs on his left side, the knuckles of his right hand visibly bruised and bloodied from where they were pressed against his torso. His eyes scanned the room, one swollen with a trickle of blood running past it from a cut along his brow, the other hindered by the sections of hair plastered against his forehead. Savage looking tears were visible on his shirt, and dark smears of red stained the front of his jeans. After he’d taken a thorough look around the room, he made his way over to her with a slight limp in his gait.

“Where’s Wiz?” he asked, his voice pained with a hint of wheezing that made him wince and hold his ribs tighter.

“He left,” Emma answered. Her senses were at war within her; wanting to scramble up the mattress to retrieve the stun gun while also wishing to know what happened to him, and wondering if there was anything she could do to help. Why on earth should she want to help him?

“Left? When? How long has he been gone?” His voice was sharp with alarm, almost accusatory in tone, and it made Emma’s hackles rise in indigation.

“I don’t know,” she snapped impatiently. “It’s kind of hard to keep track of time in a dungeon with no windows or clocks.”

He gingerly dropped down in front of her, and she eyed the stun gun laying just out of arm’s reach. Could she grab it before he stopped her?

“You’re right, love,” he replied. His voice softer now, but still twinged with panic. Emma’s mind switched from the weapon back to the curiosity of what had happened to him. “It doesn’t matter. What matters now is that we have to go.”

“Go?” Emma exclaimed. “Go where? Hook, what is going on?”

“There’s no time to explain, but I promise I will as soon as you’re safe.” He paused his movements of rummaging around in his pockets, and looked up to meet her eyes with his. “I’ve no right to ask this of you Emma, but I need you to trust me.” Her breath caught at the sound of her name from his lips, then left her completely when his gaze moved from her face to the cuffs then down to the floor. Picking up the length of metal, he turned it over in his hand before lifting his eyes to hers once more. Questioning brows briefly twitched up his forehead before discomfort reminded him of the trauma they’d sustained. Emma swallowed heavily as the question formed itself on his tongue instead. “Been taking advantage of your solitude, Swan?” A response stuck in her throat, even as her mouth fell open to reply. Hook fixed her with firm look that surprisingly resembled pride. “Good girl. I knew there was a little pirate in you.”

Before she could manage to unstick her tongue from the roof of her mouth, footsteps echoed from the hall through the still open door. Hook stood and spun around to face it, his body shielding her from whoever was about to make their entrance. The length of metal was held loosely between his fingers behind his back, and flicked in silent command for her to take it. Before snatching it from his hand, she leaned over and grabbed the stun gun, exchanging it for the makeshift key. The feel of it pressed into his hand made him stiffen and glance back at her in shock. Their eyes met for a brief second before he turned to face the door again, but the look had communicated all it had needed to. She trusted him.

“What the hell happened to you?” the Wizard asked, entering the room with a calmer demeanor than the one he’d left with.

“Things didn’t go as planned,” Hook answered. “It’s not safe for any of us here. We need to go. Now.”

“Go? Go where?” The Wizard circled his way around the edge of the room until the flipped over table was between them, his hands casually placed in the pockets of his jacket as he continued to look at Hook with an unnerving calm.

“It’s time to cut our losses and run,” Hook stated. “I came back to warn you and cut the girl loose. I don’t care where you go. The whole deal’s off. Our partnership is at an end.”

“You really expect me to believe that?” the man huffed amusedly. “That you came back to _warn me_? No. I don’t think so. You wanna know what I think?”

“Actually, no. I don’t give a damn what you think, and we don’t have time for your theatrics. It’s only a matter of time before Gold’s goons figure out where we are, and you and I both know what’ll happen if we’re still here when they arrive.”

Wizard shook his head, hands still firmly planted in his pockets. “How gullible do you think I am, Hook? Do you really think I don’t know about your plan to cut me out? It’s obvious you’ve orchestrated all of… this.” Removing his left hand from its pocket, he motioned up and down Hook’s body, indicating the injuries on display. “It’s a great plan, I’ll give you that. You pretend to be roughed up by Gold, tell me we have to cut and run, then disappear with the girl, delivering her to our employer and collecting all the spoils for yourself.”

Emma’s mind was reeling. Gold? As in the crime boss? What the hell did Boston’s most notorious crime boss want with her? She’d never gone after anyone associated with him in the course of her P.I. and bail bonds business, and she sure as shit had never met the guy in person. Why in the hell would he even go to all this trouble? If she had done something to anger him, why not just have Hook put a bullet in her head and call it a day?

“Are you insane? Where the bloody hell did you get the idea that I intended to double cross you?”

Emma’s blood ran cold when the Wizard’s eyes shifted and landed on her. Sheepishly, she looked up to meet Hook’s gaze, expecting to see anger glaring back at her. The man was full of surprises today, for not only did he not look angry, the expression he gave her was once more full of pride and admiration.

“But let’s say, for argument’s sake, that you are telling the truth,” Wizard continued. “Looks to me like you took a pretty good beating. You don’t need the girl slowing you down, so why don’t you let me take care of her.”

“Over my dead body,” Hook growled, his attention refocused firmly on the Wizard.

“I can arrange that,” the Wizard clipped before pulling a small gun from his pocket and firing it at Hook.

The deafening sound of the shot tore a scream from Emma’s throat. The bullet hit Hook, propelling him backward onto the floor next to the bed, his cry of pain mingling with her scream. Emma pulled against the cuff, trying to get closer to the downed man when the Wizard suddenly appeared before her. With his gun trained at Hook, he handed her the key to her restraint and silently commanded her to undo it. Her hands shook and it took her several moments longer than it should have to get the lock undone. Moments that allowed her to notice the stun gun, laying on the edge of the bed where it had landed when Hook had fallen.

“That wound looks nasty, Hook,” the Wizard taunted. “You’d better hope Gold’s goons find you soon. So they can put you out of your misery.”

With the Wizard distracted, Emma palmed the stun gun before releasing her wrist from the cuff. She made a show of fighting against his hold on her upper arm as he dragged her up from the bed and towards the door.

“No,” Hook groaned, sputtering flecks of blood from his mouth as he rolled and tried to get to his feet.

“On second thought,” the Wizard mused theatrically, “Why not save them the the trouble? I’ll put you out of everyone’s misery myself.” With Emma clutched in his left hand, he raised the gun and trained it on a now crouching Hook. “So long…. _Mate_.”

The stun gun, he never even released she still had in her possession, buzzed and arced before meeting the tender flesh of his neck. The Wizard screamed then went stiff from the current surging through his body. The reflex caused his finger to jerk against the trigger firing the weapon before it flew out of his hand from the recoil. A roar filled Emma’s ears just before Hook’s body slammed into the Wizard’s, tackling him to the ground as Emma yanked herself out of his grip before hitting the floor herself.

The two men grappled weakly with each other at first, but bit by bit, the Wizard’s strength returned and he started to gain the upper hand. Emma tried to retrieve the gun from where it had fallen, but the two men kept wrestling over top of it, before finally flinging it towards the far wall with one of their kicks. She scampered after it, all the while her good sense screamed at her to just run out the door towards freedom, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t leave Hook behind. Wouldn’t leave him behind.

A heart stopping scream pierced the air just as Emma reached the gun. She turned to find the Wizard looming over Hook, the live stun gun pressed into the gunshot wound at his side. Without hesitation, Emma raised the gun, aimed it at the vile man’s back, and fired. He slumped forward, landing on top of a motionless Hook.

Tucking the gun into the waistband of her jeans (safety on), Emma rushed to extricate Hook out from under the Wizard. He grunted in pain when she finally managed to slide the other man’s body off him, and she released a sigh of relief that he was still alive. A relief that was short lived by the sight of dark pooling blood inching along the floor from beneath him.

“Go,” he commanded weakly. “Get out of here, Swan.”

“No. You didn’t leave me behind, and I’m not going to leave you either.”

He tried to argue with her, but his words were cut off when she managed to pull him up into a sitting position and another cry of pain reverberated from his chest. With strength she didn’t know she possessed, Emma managed to get him on his feet and out the door, with his arm slung over her shoulders. He only managed a few steps before his legs gave out, toppling them both. She did her best to break his fall, catching him under his arms with his back pressed against her front as they slumped down the wall to the hard floor below.

“I can’t,” Hook panted, his face growing paler from the loss of blood that was now seeping into Emma’s shirt. “My pocket,” he said faintly. He attempted to reach for it, but was too weak to even lift his arms.

Emma caught his hand in hers. “What about your pocket?” she prompted gently.

“My phone. G-Get my phone and dial eight. Tell whoever answers… man down.”

_Man down? That sounded like-_

Hook’s body went limp, sending a flood of panic through her. “Hook? Hook, can you hear me?” She frantically rummaged through his pockets until she located the phone. An old model flip phone, that screamed burner. Holding her breath, she opened it and pressed the 8. It rang once before a woman’s voice answered.

“Yes?”

“Man down!” Emma yelled into the device.

“Is he conscious?” the too cool and collected voice asked.

“No, but he’s breathing.” She could feel the labored rise and fall of his chest from under the arm she had wrapped around him.

“Back up’s on its way.”

The line went dead, leaving Emma staring dumbfoundedly at the phone in her hand. A spasm rolled through Hook’s body, causing her to drop the phone so she could wrap her arms protectively around him.

“Hang in there, Hook,” she whispered soothingly into his hair. “Help’s on the way. Just… stay with me. Stay with me, Hook. Come back to me.”

~/~

Emma had no idea what she was doing here. That is to say, she knew what she was doing there, she just didn’t understand why. Why was she keeping vigil at the bedside of man who was no more than a stranger to her?

A stranger, who up until two days before, had only been a villain known as Hook. A ruthless man who’d kidnapped her and held her hostage in the basement of a run down and condemned building. Or so she had thought. Turned out _Hook_ was the persona of one of Boston P.D.’s finest detectives, Killian Jones. One of Boston P.D.’s finest detectives, who’d been working undercover in Gold’s organization for eighteen months, and had nearly bled out in her arms after he’d been shot by his distrustful partner. A distrustful partner who only become so when Emma herself had planted the seeds of doubt in the now deceased man’s mind.

Detective Killian Jones, not the villainous criminal, Hook, had almost lost his life when he’d come back for her after being made by the mobster he’d successfully fooled for a year and half. A mobster that also happened to be the father of the two-bit low life, Neal Cassidy. A man Emma had recently broken off a relationship with when she’d learned his extracurriculars were extra illegal, and she refused to jeopardize her job by associating with a known thief. She’d had no idea he was actually Gold’s son, since he used his mother’s maiden name in order to keep the connection a secret.

It had been Cassidy who’d orchestrated her abduction. Some half-baked, cockimamie plan of a staged rescue in an attempt to win her back, but things got put on hold when his father found out about the scheme. Already suspecting that someone within the organization wasn’t on the up and up, Gold wasn’t about to let his son get pinched for kidnapping, so he’d ordered a more thorough investigation into the backgrounds of the two men Neal had tapped to do his dirty work. Pulling at a few threads had caused Detective Jones’ entire cover to unravel, leaving him exposed when he went to the meeting arranged by Gold.

No one knew exactly what had happened at the meeting, other than the fact Detective Jones had taken quite a beating. The only person who could answer those questions was still recovering in a hospital bed, treated for several broken ribs and a gunshot wound that had caused severe internal bleeding, resulting in the two blood transfusions and removal of his spleen and part of his liver. While he’d been touch and go, enduring emergency surgery for his injuries, Emma had been in an interrogation room answering another detective’s questions and giving her statement of what had transpired over the three days of her captivity.

There had been some concern over letting her return to her apartment, but she’d flat refused to be taken to a safe house. She’d had enough of captivity to last her a lifetime. While arguing with the detective who’d been assigned to her case, the precinct captain had come over to introduce himself. Captain Liam Jones, older brother of Detective Jones, and not exactly Emma’s biggest fan.

She’d gotten the sense that he blamed her for his little brother’s condition; a blame she completely held against herself as well. The other detective had spoken up on her behalf, reminding both of them that she could have left him to die. She hadn’t known he was an undercover officer until the SWAT team had arrived to clear the building, but she’d refused to leave his side until the paramedics had forced her to. The Captain had at least shared his brother’s status with her, and agreed to let her visit him once he’d regained consciousness, but had sided with the detective when it came to the provision of her safety. So, off to a safe house she’d went.

It had been the longest thirty-six hours of her life (which considering the days leading up to them, that was saying something), waiting for the news that Hook, er… Detective Jones had finally regained consciousness. It had been too late for her to visit once word had come in, but Captain Jones had given the order that she be brought to the hospital as soon as visiting hours began that morning.

So, here she sat, watching the bruised and battered man she felt an inexplicable connection to sleep. A man who’d apparently asked about her the moment he’d woken up, after mumbling her name in his sleep for hours on end, according to the bubbly nurse who’d been on duty all night. Each wince that pinched his face, pulled at Emma’s heart, and despite the overwhelming compulsion she felt to hold his hand, she kept hers firmly clasped in her lap.

What was she even going to say to him when he woke up?

“Swan?” he croaked sleepily, startling her from her thoughts.

“Hook? Sorry, um… I mean, Killian. Yeah, I uh… I’m here.” _Smooth, Emma._

His hand raised up from the bed, and she instinctively grabbed onto it. “I’m s-sorry, love. I-”

“Hey, none of that,” Emma admonished lightly. “I know none of this was really your fault. You didn’t have any choice.”

“Still,” he began to argue, but a dry cough stalled his words.

Emma let go of his hand and reached for the pitcher of water the nurse had left for him. After holding the cup for him so he could take a few sips from the straw, she set it back onto the table and took his hand in hers again. A small smile rested on his lips while his forget-me-not eyes (too dull in their appearance for her liking) seemed to drink her in before confusion overtook them.

“Swan? Why are you here?” Her face must have betrayed the self-conscience uncertainty his words stirred up, making him quick to amend, “Please, don’t misunderstand. I’m glad you’re here.” His hand gripped hers a bit tighter. “I just didn’t expect you’d ever want to see me again.”

“I guess I…” Emma didn’t know how to put it into words. She wasn’t completely sure _she_ understood why she’d come, and the part she did understand, she wasn’t ready to blindly accept by putting it into words. “I guess I felt responsible about your getting shot and wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh, love, it wasn’t your fault.” With the way he was looking at her, Emma was extremely grateful she wasn’t the one hooked up to a heart monitor in that moment. “The way you played Walsh was sheer brilliance. You were amazing.”

“Walsh?”

“Aye. His real name was Walsh Oz.”

His brow arched up his forehead, saying everything Emma was already thinking. “Oz? As in _The Wizard_ of Oz? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Killian chuckled, though his ribs made him pay for his moment of mirth. He sucked in a pained breath before replying, “Aye. Gold gave us our monikers. His young, blissfully ignorant wife has a penchant for literature, so-”

“The Wizard of Oz and Captain Hook,” Emma finished for him. “Why Hook?”

Killian shrugged gingerly. “My cover included elements of smuggling and arms dealing in various ports. Perhaps he considered me something of a pirate.”

Emma knew there was more to it, something he was holding back, but now wasn’t the time to press for answers. “Well, despite the fact that I don’t think perms and wax mustaches would really be your thing, I think the name suited you.”

“I’ve certainly been called worse.”

They shared a soft laugh, neither wishing to agitate his injuries, before falling into silence. Emma could tell the light banter they’d exchanged had tired him, and was content to simply sit by his side while he rested. Occasionally he’d ask her things about her life, and she found herself sharing more than she typically would. He always reciprocated in kind, and they discovered they had quite a lot in common with one another.

Kindred spirits, he’d quipped, and Emma was inclined to agree.

Kindred enough that when the doctor came in later to do his rounds, Emma immediately sensed Killian’s reluctance at the suggestion she leave while he was examined.

“I’m gonna go see if I can rustle up some lunch,” she told him with a reassuring smile before she teased, “I don’t get the luxury of blue jello.” He gave her a relieved sort of half smile, but his eyes still held a hint of trepidation when she stood and released his hand. “Hey,” she whispered, leaning over him and sweeping his bangs off his forehead (man, was his hair soft). “I’ll be back soon.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” she vowed, sealing her words with a gentle brush of her lips against his cheek. When she pulled back they both stared at each other, wide-eyed at her boldness, but it had done the trick; there were no more lingering doubts in his gaze.

About an hour later, Emma returned to Killian’s room. She had to do a double take at the number outside the door to make sure she’d entered the correct one.

The room was empty.

“Excuse me?” she called out to the nurse passing by. “Can you tell me where they’ve moved the patient that was in this room?”

“I’m afraid she can’t do that, Miss Swan,” Captain Jones’ voice said from where he was approaching down the hall.

“What do you mean? Where’s… where’s Killian?” Cold dread swept through her, seeping past the walls of denial her heart was quickly erecting. _No, no. He couldn’t be…_

“He’s gone,” the man said softly, standing before her with frustrating stoicism.

“What do you mean, gone? He’s not… he’s not.” Emma couldn’t form the word.

“He’s not dead,” Captain Jones stated. The word punched Emma straight in the gut before she fully comprehended what had preceded it.

“Then where-”

“He’s been moved,” he continued. “To a more secure facility until he’s well enough to be relocated.”

“Relocated?” Emma parroted. “Relocated where?”

“I don’t know,” the man confessed, and for the first time his hardened demeanor softened slightly. “That’s up the U.S. Marshals now.”

_The U.S. Marshals? Surely not!_

“Are you saying he’s being put into Witness Protection?” Emma hissed.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation, Miss Swan, but surely with your knowledge of law enforcement and the justice system you can work out why that would be necessary.”

Of course she could. And she did. Right there in the hallway.

Killian must have been able to collect enough evidence during the course of his undercover assignment for them to be able to make an arrest. That also meant, he’d be their key witness when the case went to trial, making him Public Enemy Number One in the Gold organization, with a hefty price on his head and a large target on his back. Emma also knew it could take _years_ for such a case to go to trial, which meant…

“Killian had the same look on his face when I told him,” Captain Jones commented.

“Can I… can I see him before he leaves?”

The fall of the man’s face gave her all the answer she needed. Tears began to blur her vision, making the object he held out towards her nothing more than a white blob.

“He left this for you.” He pressed the envelope into her hand then offered her an apologetic smile. “Take your time. I’ll wait for you at reception to take you back to the safe house once you’re ready.”

Emma stepped inside the vacant hospital room and dropped down into the chair she’d kept vigil in hours before. Turning the envelope over in her hand, she choked back a sob at the sight of her name elegantly scrawled along the front before she removed the letter and began to read.

_My Dearest Swan,_

_By now you’ve been told that I have been moved, and while the contents of this letter might seem sudden, maybe even a bit overwhelming, I feel that if I don’t express these things to you now, I will only come to regret it later when the opportunity will no longer be afforded to me._

_Please know that I have no desire to leave you. Liam assures me that the danger against you will pass once Gold has a more pressing annoyance (me) to divert his resources to. Until then, please listen to my brother. I know he can be something of a sanctimonious and stubborn ass, but there’s no one else I would trust to keep you safe. Especially since I won’t be there to see to that honor myself._

_And it would be an honor, Swan. I know you are perfectly capable of looking out for yourself, a fact you’ve proven time and again, which makes having your trust in me to watch your back a true honor. As was having you watch mine. I can never thank you enough for that trust, not only because it saved my life, but because I understand how rare it is for you to gift it. And it is a gift I shall cherish._

_Just as I will treasure the brief moments you and I spent together, not as Hook and Swan, but as Killian and Emma. Moments I had hoped to cultivate into many more moments with you, and from the kiss you left upon my cheek, I can only hope you might have wished for that, too._

_Perhaps one day, when this is all behind us, we might have a chance for those moments, but I won’t ask you to wait for me, love. I want you to live your life. Let me be the one to carry the burden of what ifs. Will you do that for me?_

_Good girl._

_Not a day will go by I won’t think of you,_

_Killian_

Emma crumpled the pages of the letter against her chest, tears dripping from her face, and breathed out a vow of her own.

_I will find you, Killian._

The End

 

 


	8. The Choice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt: The whumpee is forced to choose between two tortures they believe will be used on them, when in fact, the torture they chose is used on a loved one. The option the whumpee didn’t choose is later used on them, as their newly tortured loved one watches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jones brothers / ~1300 words / whipping

* * *

 

“The choice is yours, Jones. What will it be?”

Liam knew his captain was lying. It wasn’t really his choice. It never was. Silver already knew what course of action he’d take in teaching the eldest Jones a lesson, but he’d never pass up an opportunity to have his fun first.

Fun, like offering a taunting choice between two punishments, and letting the poor unfortunate soul who’d found themselves in their captain’s displeasure believe they actually had a choice. Liam knew better. No matter which option he chose, Silver would find a way to twist things so Liam would receive the consequence of the captain’s choosing, not his. Given the choices before him, it wasn’t too difficult to guess which one he’d be destined for.

Lashes before the mast, or manually stocking the on-deck armaments.

Granted, hauling up cannonballs from the hold by hand without the use of a winch was exhausting, back breaking work, but it paled in comparison to the damage the cat o’ nines could do, to one’s back or their spirit. Liam was just thankful Killian had been spared their captain’s ire this time around.

“Well, Jones?” We haven’t got all day. Let’s have it.”

“The lash… _sir_.” Liam straightened himself to full height as he answered. He was in no mood for Silver’s games. He’d take the lash and be done with it.

“Liam, no,” he heard Killian hiss behind him, standing among the rest of the crew that had assembled in order to give audience to the discipline about to take place.

Liam clenched his jaw, willing his little brother to remain silent.

“Very well, Jones.”

Silver nodded, and Liam braced himself for the manhandling that did not come.

“Oi!” He heard Killian shout, causing him to spin around and watch in horror as his little brother was drug across the deck towards the mast.

“No, no, no!” Liam shouted. “This is my punishment! Not Killian’s! _I_ chose the lash!”

“Aye, you did,” Silver sneered. “But I never said you would be the one to endure it.”

Liam rushed forward, but was held back by the crew. The shredding sound of torn linen echoed in his ears as Killian’s tunic was split in two. Long, lanky arms he hadn’t quite grown into were forcibly wrapped around the mast, his hands bound with rope on the other side, securing him in place.

“How many?” Liam questioned, realizing for the first time Silver had never expressed a specific number.

“That depends on you, Jones,” Silver answered, taking the cat in hand before stalking toward Killian’s bared flesh with an sick hunger gleaming in his eye. “How quickly do you think you can restock the armaments by hand?”

Liam blanched and stared at Silver. “What?”

“You still have to be punished, Jones. You’re brother’s lashings will continue until the job is done.” Liam sucked in a breath and choked back a sob as he watched Silver swing his arm, cracking the cat against Killian’s back. A pained grunt resonated in his hearing, and Liam knew Killian would try to hold back his cries for as long as he could. “Better get going, Jones,” Silver commanded. “The lads have placed their wagers, and no one thinks you’ll be able to complete the task while there’s anything left of your brother’s back. You wouldn’t want to prove them right now, would you?”

Another slap of the lash had Liam sprinting towards the hold, jeers and laughter from the crew following him down into the dark. Should he try and carry as many as he could manage each trip, even though the extreme weight would slow him down; or take them up one at a time, which would be faster, but require more trips? He didn’t have time to consider the merits of either option. Another muffled strike, encored by cheers from the heartless men above deck filtered down with the dust and dampness. Liam secured two shots, one cradled in each arm, and raced back to the stairs. Nearly stumbling from the blinding light of the midday sun, Liam did not wait for his vision to adjust before depositing the cannonballs and hurrying back for more.

_Five._

He fumbled in the darkness for two more.

_Eight_.

He made the mistake of glancing over at Killian once he was back on deck. Angry, red welts criss-crossed his back.

_Nine_.

Some of the marks were no longer welts.

_Twelve_.

Liam grunted in his attempt to carry a third ball this time; a sound that harmonized with Killian’s scream, who could no longer remain quiet.

_Fifteen._

His legs burned, but the pain was forgotten as his stomach turned at the sight that met him when he reached the deck again. The crowd had parted, purposefully leaving him with the perfect vantage point to witness his little brother’s suffering. Blood ran down his back, and spattered through the air.

_Sixteen_.

Killian’s body contorted, twisting and arching in an attempt to alleviate some of the torment each blow delivered.

_Twenty_.

Liam’s legs were like jelly. His arms ached, and his lungs felt as though an inferno raged within his chest, each breath drawing in new fuel to fan the flames. It was nothing compared to the fire licking its way through Killian’s extremities, though. That knowledge alone was enough to keep his legs moving, his arms lifting more than he should have been capable of, and his lungs drawing in against the painful sting of exhaustion. That, and the pitiful cries of his little brother, now sobbing out pleas for his torment to end between the soul rendering screams of each strike.

_Thirty_.

“It’s done!” Liam shouted, doubling over with his hands braced against his knees.

The cat stilled while the Bosun came over to inspect Liam’s work. A nod was given, and the captain ordered Killian’s release from the mast. He had no strength left in him, and therefore crumbled to the deck before Liam could get to him.

“I’m sorry, little brother,” Liam whispered over him, not even sure if he was conscious. “I’m so, so sorry.”

“Younger,” Killian croaked, pulling a watery sound from Liam; a mixture of amusement, relief, and weariness.

There was no time for rest, though. Liam would have to dig deep within himself in order to convince his strained and overworked muscles to get Killian below, so he could begin administering his healing.

“Come on, Killian,” Liam coaxed. “We have to get you to your bunk.”

With Herculean effort, the brothers managed to get on their feet and began to make their way to the hatch.

“And where do you think you’re going?” Silver’s voice rang out from the helm.

“To tend to my brother,” Liam replied through clenched teeth.

“Has it escaped your notice that your brother has left quite a mess upon my deck? It needs swabbing.”

Liam bit back a sharp retort, and caught Killian’s eye, imploring him to do the same. Despite the toll his body had taken, his eyes blazed with murderous rage and Liam feared Killian’s tongue would get him killed if he did not quell such emotions.

“I’ll see to it once I get Killian settled below deck.”

“ _You’ll_ see to it?” Silver questioned in a tone that made Liam’s stomach drop and a shiver run up his spine. “I don’t believe it’s _your_ mess to see to, now is it?”

“You can’t expect me to be… up to the task… in my condition,” Killian panted through pained breaths.

“Hmm,” Silver hummed, giving a show of considering the youngest Jones’ words. “Perhaps, not.”

Both men relaxed slightly, and let go a shaky breath of relief. Prematurely, it seemed.

“Very well then, Jones. If you are not up to the task… let me offer you a choice.”


	9. Upon These Shores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of devastating news, Killian must hold back his despair, lest he lose everything. Although... what more could he really lose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little ficlet that crosses off my Don’t Let Them See You Cry square from my @badthingshappenbingo card.   
> CS / ~1600 words / TW: mentions of death, death in childbirth, still born, suicidal thoughts

* * *

 

Killian awoke with a groan and pounding head, his body stiff from the awkward position it had been in for many hours. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep there, but the spirits had done their job well. Gingerly, he got to his feet and began to make himself presentable for duty. He was meant to stand guard over the king today, which meant he’d be able to get word of the Queen’s condition first thing. A fact that prompted him to move with more haste than his hungover state preferred.

The Queen had gone into labor late into the evening prior. While others had drank in excess to celebrate the expected new royal, Killian had imbibed for other reasons. The occasion was indeed joyous, but tinged with bitter sweetness for the king’s guardsman. Reports had filtered through the servants’ quarters, and the barracks as the night wore on, and with each detail of the Queen’s progress (and the King’s antics as he entertained admirers whilst his wife bore the pain of duty) Killian sank further into drink until sleep had claimed him. He knew not how the Queen had fared, not whether she’d bore a young prince or princess; and he was most eager to find out.

“Jones, slow down!” his fellow guardsman called out as he sprinted toward the King’s apartment.

“Apologies, Robin. I’m on duty with His Majesty this morning, and am eager to hear of the Queen. Have you heard anything?” Robin’s face turned grim and Killian’s heart seized in his chest, the breath stilling in his lungs with a painful burn. “What?” he exhaled. “What is it?”

“The Queen, she… she still labors.” Killian felt the color drain from his face. “Things are not well, my friend. I’m told a priest was sent for.”

Killian’s body began acting of its own accord as his mind tried to process all that Robin had told him. Sprinting to the King’s room, Killian relieved the night watch and stood at attention at his post. The ache in his heart magnified as his worry mounted while a hot coal of anger smoldered in his gut at the King’s display of concern - or lack thereof. He joked and laughed with his courtiers, playing cards with one Her Majesty’s lady’s maids on his knee.

It was no secret that the King had _companionship_ outside of the Queen’s bed. The man didn’t have the decency to even attempt discretion, but woe to the man who so much as lingered his gaze too long upon the Queen. His Majesty was fiercely possessive, and more than one poor soul had found himself deprived of his head for the mere suspicion of warming Her Majesty’s bed. None of them had been guilty, though. Of that, Killian was quite certain.

The minutes stretched on endlessly before news finally came of the Queen. It took everything within him to remain upright when the priest delivered the horrible truth.

The Queen was dead.

Killian’s entire world collapsed around him, every nerve ending screaming in anguish, but he remained at attention, an exemplary ideal of stalwart discipline. His face betrayed nothing of the despair slicing into his soul, spreading its cold tendrils of torment through every fiber of his being. Hot tears stung at the corner of his eyes, but he couldn’t give them the release he so desperately wished he could. Not here. Not now.

“And the child?” the King inquired.

Killian’s breath caught, stifling a sob trying to works its way up his throat when the priest bowed his head forlornly. “A daughter. Sadly, she was still born.”

Killian felt his body begin to tremble, his heart shattering all over again with each shard impaling itself into the core of his existence. His chin quivered, but he swallowed back the devastation as his face flushed hot; first from the exertion of holding in the ravages of his spirit, then from all consuming rage.

“Small mercy,” the King replied in something of a relieved tone. “To lose a son would have been a true tragedy.”

Killian’s fists clenched at his sides, and his teeth ground together as he listened to the priest remind the King that death in childbirth meant neither the Queen or the child merited a consecrated burial. The King ordered that the matter be dealt with, so the kingdom could put the unpleasantness behind them and move on.

Moving on seemed to be at the forefront of the man’s mind. “Father? Given the circumstances, does that mean I am not bound to wait the standard mourning period before wedding again?”

Everything in the room went red, and Killian’s ears buzzed with a swarm of fury. _The Queen’s body was not yet cold, and he was already eager to replace her?_ Killian almost broke the sacred vows he’d sworn to the King for the second time in his life when he considered drawing his sword and plunging it into the despicable man’s gut. Perhaps he should. What more did he have to lose? What was there worth living for now that she was gone?

He didn’t though. She wouldn’t have wanted that.

Numbness and the familiarity of routine saw him through to the end of his shift. Mercifully, he’d been reassigned to accompany the priest back to the cathedral, excusing him from having to endure the King’s presence any longer. He’d have to relinquish his post. He couldn’t go on serving in the castle with her ghost at every turn. Being apart of the His Majesty’s Guard had never been his dream, anyway; it had been his father’s.

When he was finally dismissed from duty, Killian made his way to a secluded inlet off the coast of the kingdom. The sea had always offered him comfort, and he needed it more than ever now. Slamming his knees into the wet sand, he prostrated himself before the horizon. The light began to fade as the sun slowly sank, taking its warmth and illumination with it. It would rise tomorrow though, always promising to return in order to bathe the world in its rays; like she had. She’d been his sun, and now all that was left was darkness. Perhaps, if the child had lived he could…

Cries of anguish and anger tore from his throat, the day’s burden finally being granted release from the wreckage of his soul. Fistfulls of sand balled within his grip as he desperately attempted to find something of substance with which to cling. He was adrift in an ocean of grief and pain with nothing to moor the broken pieces of his soul to. Blurrily, he looked to the waves washing up the shore in their gentle rhythm. Perhaps he should just give himself to the sea. He’d always dreamed of a life on the seas, before he’d dreamed of a life by her side. Now that she was gone, he was free to give himself to the sea. Forever.

After getting to his feet, Killian stumbled toward the surf. The sound of the waves within the inlet lapped in his ears, the crashes of rougher swells breaking against the reef further up the shore were a welcoming overture as the sea prepared to embrace him. A footstep away from the water line, a new sound began to echo along the beach.

The fussing cry of an infant.

Killian scanned the sands until his eyes landed upon the silhouette of a young peasant woman making her way across the beach towards him. Moonlight broke through the clouds, casting an aura of silver around her normally golden tresses. Transfixed by the smile he thought he’d never have the joy of seeing again, Killian stood stunned until she was finally an arms length away.

He surged forward, hands cupping her face as he pressed his lips to hers. “I thought you were dead,” he murmured in a watery tone, fresh tears spilling down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry, my love,” she replied in equal hushed reverence. “I said nothing of my plan, because I did not know if the priest would agree to the lie. He did though, Killian. And I’m free now. Free to be with you. Free to be yours, just as you are ours.”

Killian pulled back, and focused his attention on the squirming bundle in her arms. “Oh, Emma.” His words were barely audible, but he knew she could read them from the rapture on his face. “She’s beautiful.”

Emma placed the child in his arms, adjusting the blanket around the precious treasure. “I knew you’d come here. To our special place. It seemed only fitting you should meet your daughter in the place our love created her.”

Staring down into his little girl’s face, Killian felt all the rendered pieces of himself knit back together, seamed by the threads of love already spooling between them. “I thought I’d lost you both.”

“You’ll never lose us, Killian.”

Emma’s warm palm caressed his face, and he nuzzled into her touch. Carefully, he adjusted the resting babe, cradling her in one arm, so he could wrap the other around his love’s waist.

How many times had they escaped to this place in secret? Courting danger at every turn just to hold one another in their arms? He’d committed treason upon these shores. More than once he’d been sure he’d lose his life for the love that filled his heart. Had been willing to give up his life in order to follow that love to the beyond.

He’d been prepared for this place to be his ending. Instead, it was their beginning, and a happy one at that.

 

 


	10. Teaching Mother A Lesson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on the prompt - Don't fucking touch what doesn't belong to you.
> 
> Rated T/M for non con touches and sexual advances / Captain Gothel / Captain Swan / ~1000 words / captive, bound, caged, cut, assaulted.

Killian shivered. The cold of the hard, metal bars he was bound to seeped into his bones which ached from the unnatural position he’d had to endure from being caged. His foe had yet to reveal themselves, and despite the dull pounding that pulsed from the back of his skull where he’d been struck, he’d managed to take stock of his surroundings while he waited for them to make an appearance.

The room was small and lined with stones, keeping the temperature of the air chilled. No windows could be seen, and given the dank, musty earthiness of each breath he took in, Killian deduced he must be underground. A lantern hung on the opposite wall from his cage, casting a soft, warm glow that mocked the reality he felt pressing in from all sides. He had no idea how long he’d been held captive here, nor who had taken him.

He wouldn’t have to wait much longer to find out, though.

The metal door creaked, its hinges protesting against the force of its opening. Killian fixed his gaze upon the woman who strode in, searching his memories for any instance where he might have run across her before and coming up with nothing but more questions.

“You’re awake, I see,” the woman mused in satisfaction.

With a flick of her wrist the cage began to dissolve around him. Only the bars behind him remained, keeping him tethered in place, but with the ones above him now gone he was able to stand to full height.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“Why… I want to play, of course.” She made her way to him with predatory steps, the flickering light of the lantern giving her frizzy locks and long braids a wild aura that complimented the deranged glimmer in her dark eyes. Killian cringed back and thrashed against his bindings when her hands began slither up his exposed chest. “Now that The Dark One and the Evil Queen are aware of their reality in the Heights, they have my usual toy, your counterpart, under their constant protection.” Her fingers danced through his chest hair, her nails leaving small impressions in his skin before she wrapped her arms around his neck. “It’s risky, I know. Seeing as how this version of you is married to the Savior, but I just couldn’t resist. Besides, knowing you as I do, I’m sure you’ll be more than a little amenable to some non-domesticated bliss kind of fun.” Killian tried to pull away when he felt her lips press against his neck under his jaw, but he did not have the range of movement to escape the advances of her mouth.

“You don’t know me,” he growled. The woman was clearly mad. The Heights? The Crocodile and Regina protecting his counterpart? What did any of that even mean?

“Oh, my pet. I know you better than most,” she cooed, thankfully pulling away. His gratitude was short lived, for no sooner had she given him some much desired space than a dagger appeared in her hand, conjured from thin air.

“No.” He swallowed tightly. “ _My Emma_ knows me better than anyone.”

“Really?” The tip of the dagger rested momentarily in the hollow of his throat before she began dragging it down his chest, swirling it through the coarse hair that covered its planes and teasing the sharp metal over his nipples. “Does she know how much pleasure you derive from pain?” Killian hissed at the flick of the blade slicing the skin below his breast. His nostrils flared and he ground his teeth together at the feel of its sharp edge gliding down his torso. “Or how, underneath all that bravado and swagger, what you really crave is for someone to take command over you? To bend you to their will until you’re left with nothing but shame from the satisfaction you’ve gained by being so thoroughly used?”

“Aye.” Killian bared his teeth and held the witch in his murderous gaze, even as his mind continued to reel with how she could possibly know any of this. “My Emma knows _everything_ , but I never feel shame with her.”

A sinister look of delight crept over the woman’s features. She ran her hand up his body once more, pressing in close to purr into his ear. “All the more for you to feel with me then. Splendid.”

“Hey! Birkenstocks and Granola!”

Emma’s voice preceded a blast of white magic that sent the witch flying. With a flick of her wrist his Swan removed his restraints, and he had to bite down on his bottom lip to keep from groaning as the blood rushed back into his extremities.

“Well, well, well… if it isn’t the _Saviour_ ,” the witch mocked as she picked herself up off the ground.

“That’s right. Who the hell are you?”

“You can call me Gothel,” the witch replied sweetly as Killian stepped forward to stand next to his wife. “ _Mother_ Gothel.”

“Mother, huh?” Emma commented with a dubiously arched brow. Reaching out her hand she used her magic to slam Gothel against the wall, pinning her there as she approached. Killian had never seen his Swan so filled with possessive rage, and the sight of it caused a different type of discomfort than he’d recently experienced to encompass his body… especially the parts below his waist. “Well one mother to another, here’s a little lesson for you,” Emma snarled, now mere inches from the witches face. “Don’t. Fucking. Touch. What doesn’t. Belong. To you.”


	11. Keep Count

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My first submission for a Whumpetition over on Tumblr.   
> Prompt: Don't Let Them See You Cry  
> Whumpee: young slave Killian  
> Content warnings: corporal punishment - spanking, paddling, humiliation, forced nudity in public, implied lewd intent towards a minor, probably something else I’m forgetting to mention.

* * *

 

Liam had told him to mind his tongue. Had warned him that their new captain wouldn’t be as amicable as the last. Their previous captain, though gruff and stern, had at least felt a twinge of compassion for the boys over the fact their father had been willing to trade them for a mere rowboat. No such sympathy would be afforded them on this new vessel, with this new crew and captain who saw them only as property. Liam had told him that the captain would be looking for an opportunity to set an example, and Killian had given him one.

Too young to receive the corporal punishment a true member of the crew would receive, Killian was expected to drop his trousers on deck, lay himself over the captain’s knee, and be spanked before the entire crew. It was a humiliation as much as a means to establish in a young sailor’s mind the kind of pain he might receive tenfold if such behaviors rooted themselves in his character as he grew into manhood. To stand vulnerable, naked from the waste down, in front of a group of men was bad enough, the fact that his brother was there, forced to watch from the front of the congregated crew made Killian ball his fists in determination.

He wasn’t going to give any of them the satisfaction of his cries.

“Over m’knee, boy,” the captain commanded as the bosun placed a broken off paddle from an old oar in his hand.

Killian draped himself over the man’s lap, his gaze fixed on the freshly scrubbed deck he and Liam had cleaned earlier that day.

“Head up,” the bosun snapped before yanking a fistful of Killian’s hair and wrenching his head up, forcing him to face one half of the assembly while the other watched his pale backside become increasingly reddened from the series of smacks he was about to receive.

“Keep count. Aloud.”

The order was given just before the slap of the paddle hit his rump, causing Killian to grunt and bite down on his lip before firmly stating, “One.”

His nostrils flared in response to the second strike. “Two.”

The paddle gave little warning when swung through the air before connecting with its target. Killian had little time to prepare before the next sensation of its surface cracked against his skin.

“Three.”

A fiery sting radiated off his arse making the fourth smack feel as though the captain had traded the plank of wood for a branding iron. Once again, Killian dug his teeth into his lip in order to hold back the cries gathered in the back of his throat, but was forced to croak out a _Four_ , when a reminder wallop was delivered upside his head by the bosun.

The searing spread down his legs and through his lower back, mirroring itself in both heat and intensity in the corners of his eyes where tears began to form.

“Five.”

He wasn’t going to be able to sit for the rest of the day.

“Six.”

Perhaps, not even the next.

“Seven.”

A welcomed numbness started to settle itself over his lower extremities.

“Eight.”

But it did little to alleviate the aching throb of bruising that had started to form.

“Nine.”

Killian sniffed. His voice had become shaky and hoarse from pain, but he hadn’t given in yet.

“Ten.”

Without warning, the captain shoved Killian off his legs, landing him hard on the surface of the deck with his pants tangled at his ankles. Out of some unknown instinct, Killian balled himself up, drawing his knees to his chest while wrapping them up in his arms. The strain the position put on his battered backside did not override the comfort it provided him, even though it was fleeting.

“On your feet for the captain!” the bosun ordered, pulling Killian up by his ear.

“You’d do well to remember this lesson the next time you think of back talking me, boy,” the captain said when Killian was finally on his feet. “Now put yourself right, and get back to work.”

Wincing, Killian bent over to pull up his trousers. The crew dispersed with a few lewd comments and whistles as they passed, but he forced himself not to dwell on their unsettling meanings.

“Go below and take a minute,” Liam said when he finally made it to his brother’s side. “I’ll start on our next task if you need to go somewhere and have a cr-”

“I’m fine, Liam,” Killian bit out. “I won’t let any of them see me cry.”

“They won’t.” Liam placed a hand on his shoulder and held his gaze firm. “You didn’t let them, and neither will I. I’ll cover for you, little brother.”

“Younger brother,” Killian huffed. “And I said I’m fine. Let’s just get back to work.”

Gingerly, Killian made it through the rest of the afternoon and evening, accomplishing all that was set before him. He’d kept his vow. None of them ever saw him cry. Only the shadows that danced along the hold’s wall, cast there by the light of the stair lantern at night, ever had the satisfaction of Killian’s tears.


	12. Torment of Monotony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whumpetition Prompt Fic #2: Made A Slave  
> Whumpee: Killian Jones / Content warnings: man handling, forced kneeling, enslaved, toil and hard labor, whump lite.  
> Rated: T / ~1300 words

* * *

“Well, well, well,” the madman with the flaming blue hair marveled. “It seems Captain Hook has finally deigned to arrive. A bit overdue, though. What is it you say in situations such as this? Bad form?”

“What are talking about,” Killian snarled, trying his best to wrench himself out the bruising hold two men he recognized as ones who’d sailed under Captain Silver had on his arms.

“Don’t you know where you are, Captain?” the man asked, circling him like a predator would its prey.

“Aye. The Underworld.” Killian quickly glanced around him. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected when he’d resigned himself to death in order to save Emma and her family, but it wasn’t this.

“Yes! The Underworld. My domain,” the man said, making his way back to stand in front of Killian. “We haven’t been properly introduced, you and I. My mistake. I am Lord Hades, the god of death, and you, _Captain_ , have kept me waiting for a very… long… time.”

“Well, my apologies for not being more punctual,” Killian cheeked.

“I’m afraid it’s going to take a bit more than that to repay the centuries I’ve wasted waiting on you to finally die, for good.” Hades turned and walked over to a high back chair, his throne, Killian surmised, given the way the god was lounged upon it now.

“What _will_ it take, then?”

Hades paused, as if giving the question some thought before offering, “Tell you what. I’ll let you work off the time you owe me. In servitude.”

Killian wore a sham of a smile and falsely flattered, “While I am sure that is a very generous offer on your part, I’m afraid I must decline.”

Hades tented his fingers and narrowed his gaze. “You still don’t seem to grasp the reality of your position here, Captain.”

“Enlighten me, then.”

“It’s as I said before. This is _my_ domain, which means… I own you.”

“No one _owns_ me,” Killian seethed.

“Actually, that isn’t true,” Hades countered. “Did you really think there wouldn’t be consequences for cheating death all those years? I admit, I instigated the original deal, the one that saved you and your brother from the storm, but then you just had to keep renegotiating the contract.”

Killian shook his head. Nothing the demon said made any sense. Deal? The storm? Liam? The Contract?

“What contract?”

“Why… this one.”

Hades snapped his fingers and unfurled a scroll when it instantly materialized in his hand. The parchment stretched from Hades grip and ended at Killian’s feet. At the bottom was a signature, one Killian recognized. It was his brother Liam’s.

“Given your youth at the time, your brother signed the agreement on your behalf. I assure you it is quite binding, as are the provisions within the fine print. The ones which back up my claim as your lord and master now that you have entered the Underworld.”

Killian’s jaw tightened. No. Liam would have never indebted them to the likes of Hades. He wouldn’t believe it, couldn’t believe. The contract vanished in a puff of smoke before Killian’s eyes, but not before he’d had a chance to read the truth of Hades’ claims for himself.

“Kneel,” Hades commanded

Killian flicked his steely gaze upon the man. “No.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Hades placed a hand over his heart in an act of false contrition. “Did I phrase that in such a way it made you think you had a choice?”

A sharp kick was delivered to the backs of his knees, forcing them to the ground with a jarring thud. Killian’s head fell forward only to be wrenched back up by a painful tug of his hair, forcing him to face the devil still seated upon his throne. Weighty hands pressed themselves to his shoulders, ensuring he remained in his forced position of penitence.

“That’s better.”

Killian’s teeth ground together at Hades self-satisfied tone and victorious smirk. Nostrils flaring, he inhaled a resolute breath and bit his tongue. Let the egomaniac think he’d won. Deals were made to be broken, and Killian was nothing if not resourceful. He’d find a way out of this. He just had to endure whatever punishment, whatever acts of servitude Hades had planned until he could initiate his escape. He’d endured all manor of torture and humiliation at the hands of tyrants before, what could Hades possibly do that Killian hadn’t survived already?

“I pride myself on being rather creative with my beatings,” Hades boasted. “But I think a different form of judgement would be much more effective in helping you learn your place here. Yes… I think I have just the right form of torture for the great Captain Hook.”

Killian scoffed, a defiant huff expelling from his chest before he taunted, “Go on, then. Do your worst.”

“Such fire,” Hades said with mocked appreciation and enthusiasm. “Such passion. I’d expect nothing less from a man of action, such as yourself.” Hades slid from his throne and paced his way to Killian with slithering steps then crouched down until they were face to face. “Which is how I know these years of repayment will drive you mad before their completion. For a man with such a drive for adventure, how could there be anything worse... than purposeless monotony.”

Killian’s brow knitted together and his jaw went slack with bewilderment. He’d expected the lash, or perhaps a rack. What the hell kind of torment was monotony?

~/~

The sun beat down on Killian’s back, causing beads of sweat to run down his face while he was bent over on all fours on the hard boards of the deck. The fetid stench of fish guts and other filth choked his sinuses and made his eyes sting and water, blurring his vision. His hand was raw from the continued scrubbing, his body aching from the repetitive action of cleansing the deck of the _Jolly Roger_ with only a small brush and pale of never ending sea water.

He’d lost count of the times his back had become blistered under the intense rays of perpetual midday. The number of times his hand had cracked and bled, or his knees had become bruised or scraped to the bone. How many times had he chucked the brush over board, only for it materialize in his hand soon after? How many times had he just sat in defiance only to see the refuse upon the deck multiply until it left him vomiting over the side, the retching setting his throat afire with no fresh water to soothe its ache.

How many times had he come to the end of his task, finally able to stand and stretch out the kinks and sore places the hard labor and toil had beset upon his body? How many times had he watched the bruises, scrapes, burns, and blisters heal themselves, and his parched body receive a quenching that almost brought about full relief and refreshing, only to have the sparkling deck soiled once again, ready for its next scouring without another moment’s rest.

How much longer before Hades words proved true? How much longer before the madness set in from the torment of this monotony?


	13. Worth the Screams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whumpetition Prompt Fic (3/25): You Can Scream All You Want  
> Whumpee: Killian Jones  
> Content Warnings: Whangst, Captain Gothel, poisoned heart, unwelcomed advances, magical restraint.  
> Rated T / ~1200 words

* * *

 

“You can scream all you like,” Gothel’s voice grated from behind him. “She can no longer hear your call.”

Killian spun around, drawing his sword as he faced down the witch. “What are you doing here?” He snarled. His voice broke slightly over the dry, ravages of his throat, made raw from the countless hours he’d stood yelling out Alice’s name. He prayed she could hear him from the distance he was forced to keep due to his poisoned heart.

They’d discovered that particular effect of the poison within the first few days. Each time they interacted, they were forced to do so from a greater expanse than the time before. His heart would constrict within an invisible vice while the pierce of a hundred phantom knives stabbed him from green glowing depths of his chest, keeping him from treading any closer to his starfish. When he became barred from the tower altogether, they began passing notes to one another via basket and pulley, but it wasn’t long before even approaching the basket proved impossible. They settled for shouted conversations after that. Words, assisted by the breeze, could still be traded with one another, only now it seemed the distance had become too great for even the winds to carry his cries.

All because of the odious woman standing before him now.

“I asked you a question, witch,” Killian snapped. “What do you want?”

“I want what I’ve always wanted.” She flicked her wrist and Killian’s sword vanished from his grip, giving her leave to approach him. A familiar gleam of appreciation simmered in her stare while she perused him, her hand running up his chest and combing through his chest hair as Killian realized she’d rendered him incapable of movement. “You may have given up on your quest for revenge,” she murmured, her hand slipping up his neck until her finger could trace the underside of his jaw. Killian would have clenched his jaw if he could, the freezing spell thankfully kept bile from rising up his throat, “but I still seek mine. Now that you are no longer trapped by the responsibilities of fatherhood, you are finally free to assist me.”

“Why would I _ever_ do anything that would bloody well help _you_?” he questioned harshly when he felt his tongue loosen from the confines of her spell.

“Because doing so will be mutually beneficial for us both.” Her nails raked through the fine hair at the back of his head, and this time his teeth did grind together at the shudder trapped from traveling down his spine in response to the unwelcome feel of her touch. “I’ll make it worth your while,” she murmured seductively, her lips hovering just over his.

“There is nothing you could offer me that would make _that_ worth my while.”

Rage sparked in her eyes. Her nails clawed the back of his neck before she pulled away, leaving angry red welts in their wake as she rocked back on her heels. “Even if I promised to cure you when the matter is complete?” she offered with a raised brow and simpering smile.

“You’re lying,” Killian accused, even as an uncontrollable rush of hope swelled in his aching chest.

“Am I?” she replied coyly. “Why do you think I poisoned you in the first place? I knew you’d never leave Alice by your own choice. You made that quite clear when you refused to accompany me the first time. What was it you said? Abandoning people isn’t your thing? So, I waited until she was old enough to look after herself, and gave you an out free of that self-loathing and guilt you seem so determined to hold onto.”

“Am I supposed to thank you for that?” Killian responded tersely, rage churning in the pit of his stomach. “You ripped me away from my daughter. A daughter _you_ walked out on hours after she was born! Do you really expect me to believe you hold even an ounce of concern or compassion for either of us?”

“What you choose to believe is your affair,” Gothel waved off dismissively. “The reality is that this is the closest you will ever get to your precious starfish, unless you choose to walk away now.”

“I won’t abandon my daughter,” Killian declared with a broken sob catching in the back of his throat.

“Of course you won’t. But you aren’t doing her any good from here.” She ran her hands up his arms and linked them behind his neck, pressing herself against him once again. “Come with me. Help me get my revenge on those who locked me away in that tower,” she breathed into the hollow of his throat before laying a series of kisses up his neck towards his ear. “We could make such a team, you and I, and when all is said and done, I’ll cure that deteriorating heart of yours. At the very least, it would give your heart time to heal from all the damage you’ve caused it.”

“Damage _I’ve_ caused it? You must be joking,” Killian scoffed.

“Haven’t you ever heard that absence makes the heart grow fonder?” she quipped. “In the poison’s case, absence makes the poison dormant, only activating when you are in the presence of your loved one. Time away from Alice with give your heart a chance to heal.”

“Does that mean,” he paused, outraged with himself for even considering putting credence to the witch’s words, “that eventually I’d be able to scale the tower again?”

“Of course,” she grinned wickedly. “So long as you don’t return too soon. Doing so could have dire consequences.”

“And how will I know if it’s too soon?”

“You won’t,” she stated victoriously. “But I will.”

Killian swallowed heavily and weighed the choice before him. He could simply refuse to join her in her quest and try and wait out the effects of the poison on his on, dubious as he was of her warning about the consequences. But if there was even a chance she _would_ cure him, wasn’t it worth whatever he might have to endure to earn it?

“So?” Gothel drawled, her fingers lazily tracing down his sideburn. “What will it be, Captain?”

“Alright,” Killian agreed in a strained, but menacing tone. “Don’t make me regret this, _witch_.”

“You’ll have no regrets, Captain. I guarantee it.” Her lips ghosted over his once again as she suggested, “Shall we seal our deal with a kiss?”

His mind screamed for her to stop, and Killian couldn’t help the sinking feeling that he may have just bargained away his very soul when her mouth claimed his. _Scream all you want_ , he told himself, _For Alice, it’s worth it_.


	14. Trapped in a Burning Ship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Whumpetition and bthb fic #8 / Jones Brothers whump
> 
> Warnings/Tags: Sea battle, explosion, threat of burning, threat of drowning, pinned down, taken captive, and others.

The concussive force of the fresh volley hitting the ship sent Captain Liam Jones flying into some nearby rigging.

“Report!” he cried out, and the answers that followed made his heart stop.

_“Fire! Fire in the hold!”_

“Abandon ship!” Liam ordered. 

A mad rush began as crewmen prepared the lifeboats while others continued the assault on the enemy ship, hoping to keep it at bay until they could escape. Fire in the hold meant the ship could blow apart at any moment should the flames reach the volatile black powder stored there. Liam scanned the deck, assessing the whereabouts of each of his crew in order to ensure all knew the order to take to the lifeboats.

One man’s absence sent his pulse racing.

“Lieutenant Jones! Has anyone seen the Lieutenant?”

“He went below some time ago, Captain,” a crewman answered as he ran past.

Liam knew he should remain on deck, should stay at the command to see to the battle still waging and the escape efforts being made. But he couldn’t quiet the feeling within that screamed his little brother needed him.

Having given command over to one of his officer’s, Liam hurried down one set of steps that led down into the hold and began to choke on the acrid black smoke billowing from below.

“Killian! Little brother, where are you?!” he cried out between coughs.

“Younger.” 

The croaked reply sent a swell of relief through him, but it was short lived. A swirl of air wafting from a hole blown into the side of the hull parted the smoke revealing a fallen pieces of debris with his brother trapped beneath. A wave of heat engulfed Liam as he continued on towards his brother’s side, crouching low to keep himself below the smoke that was thankfully vacating the hold through the hatch openings on deck. The flames seemed isolated behind the bulkhead that separated the stern hold from the armory, though given the amount of smoke making its way into the hold that stored their battlements, the dividing wall must have been compromised during the battle. 

The partition didn’t keep the room from feeling like a furnace though, and it would only be a matter of time before the fire reached or did enough damage to sink them. Liam needed to get Killian out from beneath the rubble, immediately.

~/~

Killian tried again in vain to remove the heavy debris from his legs. Sweat poured from his brow as the temperature within the hold began to rise, and the alarming amount of billowing smoke told him that a fire must have ignited within one of the compartments behind him. Frantic shouts and footfalls echoed from above, drowning out his cries for help.

He was quickly becoming lethargic from the sweltering air, which was becoming thin and so infused with smoke he couldn’t stop the convulsing coughs forcefully expelling from his lungs. He thought he might be hallucinating when he heard his brother’s voice call out for him through the swirling clouds of ash, but it didn’t stop him from muttering a reply of disdain against the infernal moniker Liam like to rib him with.

“Killian!” Several hard taps stung his cheeks where Liam was attempting to rouse him. “Wake up! Killian, open your eyes! That’s an order!”

Killian coughed out a scoff at the ludicrous demand but managed to pry his eyes open. Embers wafted overhead and the crackle of flames consuming the ship became more pronounced in Killian’s ears.

“We have to get you out of here,” Liam shouted as he tried to remove the timber that had Killian’s legs pinned.

“Liam!” Killian protested, grabbing onto his brother’s arm. “You have to go. There’s no time. Get off the ship. Save yourself.”

“No.” Liam shook his head, his eyes wide but determined. “I will not leave a man behind. The captain should be the last to leave the ship, and if need be, go down with it.”

“Stubborn arse,” Killiam muttered, knowing there was no point in arguing.

Futilely, the two continued to work together to try and move the debris until fatigue from the now roasting degrees took over. Liam slumped down next to Killian, both men utterly defeated and resigned to their fate. The footfalls above had all but quieted, and Killian felt a comfort in knowing the crew had made it off the ship in time. 

The bulkhead collapsed, flooding the armory with a cloud of ash and sparks that threatened to blow them sky high, yet, miraculously, none had ignited the powder kegs.

“It has been an honor to serve at your side, brother,” Killian panted, clasping onto Liam’s hand with his own.

“It has been an honor being your brother,” Liam responded, pulling his hand from Killian’s grip so he could wrap an arm around his shoulders and pull him in close.

The heat was unbearable, the smoke a suffocating shroud that hovered over them like a placeholder for death. Fear thundered in Killian’s ears as he started to feel himself slip into unconsciousness. Before the darkness could fully envelop him, a whistle pierced through his cognition.

“In coming!” he heard a faint shout call out from the distance before being violently jarred by the impact of a cannon ball striking the hull.

The weight on his legs shifted, causing him to scream in pain. His mind was still trying to process the agony, unaware that it had suddenly stopped when a swell of frigid sea water washed over him, jarring him back into full awareness.

“Brother!” Liam cried out, and Killian watched in horror as Liam was dragged out the side of the ship, through the blast from the recent volley. 

“Liam!” 

The pull of the sea gripped him, and he realized he was no longer trapped beneath the wreckage. Instinctually, he reached out to grab onto something that might keep him from the same fate as his brother. Staring into the dark abyss of Davy Jones’ locker, Killian considered his options. The ship was going down, but the waters had not yet reached the fire that still threatened the powder stores. He could wait and be blown apart, or join his brother and meet his reward as a true sailor, taken by his mistress, the sea.

“I will follow you, brother. To the ends of the earth.”

Killian closed his eyes and let go, surrendering himself to the current. Drawn free of the ship, the turbulent waters spun him until he could no longer distinguish which way led towards the surface. Not that it mattered. The drag of the sinking vessel would tug him further down and he had not the strength to fight its force. Suddenly, a shockwave propelled him upward, the icy waters becoming tepid around him. 

The flames must have finally reached the black powder.

Killian had only a moment to consider that realization before his head broke free from the surface and a gasping breath burned its way into his lungs.

“Lieutenant!” a nearby crewman in one of the lifeboats called out.

“My brother?” Killian croaked after he was pulled into the dinghy and given a blanket for warmth. “Where is my brother?”

“That’s captain to you,” Liam replied from behind him with a hint of relief. “Glad to see you are still with us, lieutenant.”

“Well, as I’ve always told you, _captain_. I’m a survivor.”

A shadow cast itself over the lifeboat. The crewman craned their necks, peering up at the enemy vessel and the guns trained on their assembly.

“Let’s hope that remains true, little brother,” Liam murmured into his ear before he called out their surrender.

“Younger,” Killian groused back, earning him a smirk from Liam before they met their fates as prisoners of war.


End file.
